As a child there are memories that stick to you. Unfortunately most of them involve some form of pain, and usually they happen over summer-break. Summer-break in 1992 started off just like the previous two. Over my vacations I would get dropped off over my grandmother’s house in Long Beach California while my dad went to work. Throughout the school year I would usually only visit her home once a week, which wasn’t a bad thing. My grandmother’s house was the stereotypical old folk’s home. The house was dark, gloomy, and boring as all get out. The house also had an absurd amount of plants throughout the dark hallways and bathrooms. She didn’t even have cable!
Everyday was the same routine at granny’s. My father would drop me off at exactly 7am, just in time for her world class breakfast of grits, bacon, eggs and toast. I absolutely hated grits, but I could not leave the table until I finished them all. My grandmother was a traditional Southern woman being raised in Shreveport, LA. I didn’t know much about Shreveport, I only remembered the stories she would share with me. She once told me that her house was the only house for miles and that nighttime outside was pitch dark. She stood about 5’5” tall and she always wore her reading glasses and wigs.

I can recall walking in to her room one day to find her not wearing her wig. It scared me so bad as a 10 year old that I literally thought someone had broken in the house. However one morning I arrived to my grandmother’s house and things were different. I inserted my key into her door to walk in at 7am and everything was quiet. No world class breakfast and no grandmother. As I walked into her room I noticed that she was still sleep. I lightly tapped her on the shoulder to let her know that I was there. She responded “Hey baby I’m not feeling so well, go ahead and fix yourself something to eat.” I thought to myself great! I don’t have to eat any grits today. As I approached the kitchen I scanned the counter-tops and cabinets for cereal, only to be disappointed. She only kept healthy cereals such as Grape Nuts. Ewwwwww! There had to be something edible I thought. As I closed the cabinet I was greeted by a sighting of a cake dish on one of the counter-tops. One thing my grandmother was good at was baking cakes. I crept over to the cake dish salivating more and more with every light step I took. I had to be incredibly quiet, if my grandmother knew that I was having cake for breakfast she would have my hide.
Finally I reached the dish and lifted the top slightly to verify the contents. I was embraced by the aroma of a German Chocolate Cake my second favorite next to Red Velvet. I quietly opened the cabinet with the plates and removed the biggest one I could find. I then retrieved a tall glass and filled it with ice cold milk. I placed my milk on the table and proceeded slowly back to the cake dish with my plate. I sat my plate on the counter and continued on my mission. As I carefully opened the cake-dish it slipped out of my hand. Oh no!!!!! I panicked and frantically I tried to catch it before it shattered to the ground. Somehow during my attempts to catch the dish it broke in half in the air, and crashed to the ground making what seemed to be the loudest noise known to man.
As I looked at the hundreds of pieces of glass on my grandmother’s kitchen floor I noticed what looked like blood. It couldn’t be blood I thought, only because of the sheer amount of it. I didn’t feel anything when the dish broke, so where was it coming from. I scanned my hands and arms to find out that I had been cut very deeply on my right forearm. Blood was gushing everywhere and the sight of it started making me nauseas. I ran screaming to my grandmother’s room leaving behind me a trail of blood. “GRANDMA, GRANDMA, GRANDMA,” I screamed. “I’m bleeding help!!!!!!!!!!!!”
She arose from her bed in a panic as she saw the huge gaping hole in my arm. She quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my arm tightly. We hurried out of the door to the car and rushed to the hospital. Once to the hospital we rushed into the emergency room, me sporting a blood soaked towel around my arm, and my grandmother with no wig and a nightgown on. The doctors hurriedly took us to the back. Once there they poured iodine and various other chemicals onto my arm, much to my agony as I screamed in pain. I endured numerous shots to my arm to numb the area as the doctors prepared me for stitches.
As they left the room to let the medicine kick in I was one on one with my grandmother. I sat on the bed with my arm pinned to a table. At that moment my grandmother asked “So what happened?” A huge lump in my throat developed as I fought to get the words out. With my voice quivering I uttered “I was trying to get a piece of cake and cut my arm.” My grandmother just shook her head in disappointment and said “What did you learn?” I just looked at her with a somewhat puzzled look on my face; I was surprised by how calmly she reacted to what I told her. I asked her was she mad and she responded “No I’m just thankful you’re alright grandson.” In that instant I learned that eating cake for breakfast is not only bad nutrition, but it is also very dangerous.