Plate of food at a dinner table (Photo by Charlene Holguin).

Staying late after school isn’t exactly what I want to be doing. Especially when I could be at home with all its comforts, but with all the after school club’s and activities, I end up staying.  By the time I am ready to go home, it’s past 6 and dark so I call one of my parents and let them know I’m coming. They get worried when I don’t.

I really can’t wait to get home because I am starving by the time I get there and my parents have always had a fantastic meal that awaits me and my hungry belly on the table.  I was a lucky kid that my dad was the head chef at his restaurant.

When I get home this time, I wasn’t greeted by tasty food or by smiling parents, but by some horrible note that said,
“Sorry daughter, but your Father has a company dinner that we both have to attend, there are lots of things to eat, so make something!
-Love Mom”

It was like one of those dramatic scenes in the movies when a person gets horrible news and the person falls to the floor in slow motion, sad music and all.  What did she expect me to make? I couldn’t make my own food!  I didn’t even know how to make an egg! What am I supposed to eat now?

The kitchen was a very intimidating place to be in especially since I knew how crazy things could get with my dad.  The fridge seemed like a good place to start, I found some chicken and some little red potatoes.  I’ve seen my dad make this before, seems easy enough.

I washed the potatoes and cut them in half, very carefully after the first one almost cutting off my finger.  I wanted to roast them, so I set the oven at 400 degrees and threw them in.  Next was the chicken, and I was a little scared.  I looked threw the spice cabinet and just grabbed everything that sounded good.

There was some red powder, and little green leaves everywhere after I was don’t seasoning the chicken.  I found a big pan and turned the burner on,  the chicken went in and for some reason, it started burning right away and smoke was everywhere.  I just threw the pan into the sink and ran the water on, besides the chicken burning, I smelled something else burning, and of course it was the potatoes, all black they went in with the chicken.

My parents walked in on me and the messy kitchen, “Daughter! What are you doing?”
“I was attempting to make myself a cooked meal,”  I could even hear the sadness in my voice.
“I’m sorry dear, if we knew you were going to burn down the house, we would of left you something in the microwave.”