So goes grief

The number one thing I miss from my childhood that created the rift in my family is, you guessed it– cookouts. The impulse to congregate just because of convenience or food stamps. Somehow we always had enough at any point in time. When we had cookouts, great grandma Louise typically never knew about them. It was a surprise party that seemed random but was intentional every single time. 

I miss the music. Uncle Tony and Uncle Sam tag team DJ’d past the sunset. My cousins and siblings danced as long as they could since we couldn’t spend the night at Grandma Louise during the school week. Old-school jams like Encore, Stay with Me, and Drop the Bomb on Me still have a spot in my playlist. When people ask me why I know music so well, they are part of the blame. 

I miss the food. Grandma Shirley’s mac and cheese, collard greens, dressing (with gravy), and fried chicken can’t be matched. Auntie Nita hush puppies and fried fish. Auntie Sylvia's crab boils were one of one: Snow crabs, boiled eggs, yellow potatoes, sausage, corn on the cob, and of course, garlic with mayo-ketchup on the side. They are the chef trio. Though I didn’t learn their styles, I knew the smell from anywhere on Earth. 

I miss the games. Spades, tunk, Street V3, Def Jam Fight for New York, tag, hide and go seek, 21. Running up and down Lincrest seemed endless since we couldn’t be inside long. I loathed being around being everything was a game back then.

Who would’ve thought I’d  become the punchline?