It was a Monday night, and my turn to cook dinner. Mom told me to cook stir-fry chicken and vegetables, so that she could do her homework for nursing school. I chopped the cabbage, the carrots, the mushrooms, onions, and celery, while the chicken was defrosting. The cilantro was out, as well as the soy sauce, the soy bean oil, and the olive oil. Everything was ready, and I was nearly done rinsing the green crunchy pea pods, sneaking a bite, as I was allowed to because I was the cook.

"Mommmm, how do I cut the chicken!?"
"Just peel the skin off and slice it off the breast, honey. And throw it in the pan."

"Uh...okay," I thought to myself while staring at the cold, pink pieces of bloody flesh in front of me, in a yellow styrofoam plate. I held the knife in my right hand, keeping the breast in place with my left. I tore into the flesh, not knowing how much effort it would take to skillfully accomplish this task. Setting down the knife, I took the half torn piece and tried to rip it apart from the rest, but I was new at this whole cooking thing. So mom did the rest.

...to be continued...
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