When I was young in Bristol, I would count the days until the Fourth of July. You see, this day was the mother of family gatherings.
“I see Aunt Cathy and Uncle Joe…and Keri, Michael, and Steven, too!” I would shout with excitement.
We were ready to celebrate the oldest parade in the country!
Stepping inside the back door, I could smell the oil cooking the doughboys on my grandmother’s stove before even entering the kitchen.
“Doughboys are ready!” my grandmother would announce to my five younger siblings and me.
In minutes, my fingers would be covered in the powdered sugar I generously sprinkled atop a cooled treat. No Fourth of July was complete without Gram’s doughboys.
With full bellies, clad in patriotic clothing, and the promise of seeing some stellar floats, we made our way to the family blanket to watch the parade curbside.