Kids should remember birthdays more vividly than they remember the crumble of instant coffee granules finger-sifted into the sugar.

More clearly than they remember the timber of their uncle’s voice, the twitch of his moustache and his furious red cheeks as he yelled at them for not making decaf coffee for their grandparents. Kids should be proud of being given responsibility, finally old enough to boil water in the whistling kettle on the electric stove. They should not be screamed at about avoiding caffeine for heart health because they don’t understand and they are eight.

They should remember the bitter lick of the spoon, the drip of half and half, more sharply than the voices that reverberated through the house long after everyone had gone home. They should put on the Gloria Estefan cassette and spin circles in the living room as Missile Defense loads on the Sega. They should have their gun ready.

Jerica Taylor is a non-binary neurodivergent queer cook, birder, and chicken herder. Their work has appeared in Postscript, Dream Journal, and perhappened. She lives with her wife and young daughter in Western Massachusetts. Twitter @jericatruly