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Growing up is a vague term and different for everyone. My story is about having multiple father figures and an appetite for food. Traveling to accommodate family while schooling in Miami was hard for a little girl. From white bread to whole grain, I got to see the world through my aunt's eyes and she was married to a lawyer. My grandmother loved food and was great to be around. My mother, as I made my way back to Miami, Florida, was always waiting for us with open arms, as she shortly spoke on the phone with family and friends to welcome us back. I was excited to see my room again and my other grandmother and my dog. Food was different and Cuban, where as in Los Angeles we ate out a lot at Chinese restaurants, and my uncle occasionally would cook a salmon or grade A steak on the BBQ. Life was hard, fun, and fulfilling; capable of creating the imagination to do anything from horseback riding to being at Universal Studios, where the journey was what you made it. This trip was not horseback riding, but I remember my aunt's sweet hair, hugs, and kisses, forever. My mother's floor knees and my grandmother's cooking, genuine.
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