I have a little sister who is four years younger than me. I was always closer to her than my mother and my father, and always cared for her. Many years ago, for my parents’ dedication and care towards us, my sister and I decided to make French toast for them every Sunday morning.

French toast was incredibly convenient for my sister and I to make. First, we would begin by beating the eggs, vanilla, and cinnamon into a shallow dish. Then the three ingredients would be stirred in milk. Dipping the bread in the mixture was the most exciting part in making French toast. My sister always had trouble coating both sides of the bread evenly with the mixture. Following the coating of the bread, we would cook the bread on medium heat until both sides of the …show more content…
I’ve been making you and dad breakfast every week for the past seven years.”

I opened the cap of the maple syrup bottle and began to pour the maple syrup onto the French toast. The syrup took its time to make its way down onto the hot surface of the bread.

I could slowly feel the tension building up as their voices gradually grew louder and louder. I could feel the bread crumbs on the table shaking with alacrity as the intensity of the inner conflict of my sister’s growing gradually unnatural. It went from being a casual Sunday morning conversation between family members to a complete bedlam. Words were being thrown across the table at the speed of light. The comments shared amongst the family members were like bullets being fired from opposite ends of a battlefield. I could here my sister calling my parents “useless”.

There was enough of maple syrup on the French toast. Yet, I was craving for more. I tipped the bottom of the syrup bottle higher as more maple syrup dripped down onto the bread. By now, the French toast was perfect; there was enough of the sweet