All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Avocado
Perhaps my love for avocados is genetic. My father is from Mexico and was constantly surrounded by avocados, and so grew his love for avocados. My grandmother, who is ironically allergic to avocados, would always include avocados in her meals whether in salads, on tacos, or as a snack. According to her there is only one proper way to slice an avocado and remove the pit, any other way looked uncultured in her eyes. She would slice through the avocado like butter until the two halves separate and roll onto their backs exposing the pit stuck in one half, and a perfectly circular divot left in the other. It was the most violent thing I ever see her do. She slams the knife into the pit as if to chop it, then when the knife is strongly wedged in the pit, she twists it until it pops out of the soft green avocado leaving another clean smooth imprint of where the pit was.
Her legendary guacamole recipe is a hit at all gatherings, and has always been my personal favorite. She lives in Texas and unfortunately cannot send me guacamole via FedEx, so she gave me the recipe and I eat it all the time. We often forget about my grandmother’s food allergy, and when we would ask her how her famous guacamole food tasted she always replied “I have no idea.” This response usually confuses us until later on in the meal we finally remember she is allergic to the food. Her skill to cook these delicious meals was always a mystery to me. She was like Beethoven, who would create beautiful music and couldn't even hear it.
My grandmother’s personality was as smooth and gentile as the unique texture of the avocados. Her voice was clear and soft, and when she spoke the skin that hung from her chin wiggled to reveal more wrinkles. I couldn't wrap my arms around her when we hugged; she engulfed me while stroking my back and hair. When I was young I wanted to plant an avocado tree. My grandmother knew that nothing would grow, but she humored me and let me bury the pit next to the back door of her ranch house. Every day she would help me water it until I eventually forgot and she didn't chastise me.

Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.