Holidays with my family usually mean two things that begin with the letter F. Family, and food. The latter of these two being the most crucial. It doent matter whose home you are going to, if you show up with something that is not edible you will be forced to turn around and go get something that is. Food is a very important thing to us. That needs to be made crystal clear before I say another word. FOOD, is very important.

When I was about eleven years old, the wheel of Hoildays had been spun and Vanna White spelled out our prize for us in dazzling red, white, and blue: The Fourth Of July. This meant that a little over 20 people would be flocking to our home to dine on burnt hot dogs, juicy hamburgers, homemade potato salad, watermelon and a variety of other items. My mom had taken my sister and I to the parade to scramble for half-opened tootsie rolls and the occasional crushed lollipop, before ushering us back home to prepare the food we would soon be gorging ourselves on. My sister and I, after about an hour of Mario 64 got bored and decided that bothering mom was the best way to stifle the boredom.

We walked downstairs to discover my mom moving at hyperspeed through the kitchen and had to shout to get her attention. After a heated debate with herself, she decided to put Nikki and I to work making The Dessert. I say The Dessert because this was the GRANDMAMA of all desserts. This bad boy was a six-layer masterpiece utulizing blue and red jello, strawberries and blueberries and, you guessed it, Cool Whip. Nikki and I looked at each other and nodded: we understood the seriousness of the situation. If we screwed up this dessert, we would die. Plain and simple. We washed our hands using the pretend soap and dried our hands on our dirt covered pants and went to work. We poured the jello mix into two separate bowls and checked to make sure the Cool Whip was okay. We measured the boiling water (with some help from mom) precisely and carefully poured it into the powder, and checked the Cool Whip again. We stirred the jello and poured it carefully into the American Flag Shaped mold and stuck it in the freezer, opening the freezer door every thirty seconds to see if it had cooled yet.

My mom at this point is losing her mind: the potato salad has too many olives, the hamburger buns are frozen and we are short one bottle of pop. She is beyond stressed and anger is quickly beginning to surface with every sh*t, b*ch, and f-bomb dropped, but Nikki and I

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