Earlier today I fixed my favorite meal. Its not really a meal in the common sense of the word, but the minute I sat down to the hot steaming bowl, I was instantly transported back to a time in my youth that forever holds a special place for me. My family has always had strange dietary tastes, from my sister’s fondness of pouring gobs of ketchup onto her cottage cheese to my brother’s love of Peanut butter and fluffernutter sandwiches. There is however, one dish that is unique to my family and that dish is Fried Macaroni.

My father, when I was a little kid, and actually still to this day, loves macaroni. He’ll often fix a pot of macaroni and pour a healthy amount of my mother’s homemade “hot sauce” over it, sprinkle a fair amount of pepper on it and sit down to watch his soap opera before he would shower and head off to work. (He’s now retired) My mother’s hot sauce is a wonderful spicy/sweet tomato(e) combination that explodes with flavor in your mouth. Again, truly unique to my family as I’ve never tasted anything like it in my years or my travels.

On special occasions, when my sister was in the mood (she did the bulk of the cooking for the family) we would get this special treat, which may sound less that tasty, but here goes.

Most of my family would use my mother’s hot sauce; I however, would use ketchup (Heinz only thank you very much).

Now I realize that this is a strange meal, but today, while I was eating it, I remembered what it was like in the house during summer vacations, when my dad would cook up a big batch of fried macaroni before heading to work. It truly represents to me what family is all about. We all grew up on one thing, and I would bet that every single one of my siblings still enjoys this dish once every so often. That time was one of wonder, before life’s changes separated my family and spread us across the country, with families and children of their own. I miss those days every so often. I miss the crazy things we used to do, the spit-wad wars throughout the house, the stories that shaped who we would become, the close-ness of the family. I guess you could say that I miss my family, how we used to be.

I’m thankful for the memories, the fond one and the less than fond ones. I’m thankful that I grew up with the people I grew up with. I’m thankful that the experiences we shared were what they were, leaving Eddie at the Grand Canyon, crossing the country on the back window ledge of the Mercury as we moved to NY from St. Charles, MO., with the St, Bernard stretched out across the laps of the other 4 on the back seat. My memories of those days are glossed over I’m sure. My memories do not match my siblings exactly but they’re my memories and nobody can take them away from me. Happy, sad, enlightening, frightening, angry, but mostly fun, carefree, happy times.

I’m realizing how full my life is and has always been.