When I was a kid I always looked forward to summer. Summer meant hiking in the mountains and visiting my extended family in Pennsylvania. It meant staying up late to draw at my coffee table and watch The Munsters. Most of all, summer meant fried chicken parties.
Every summer from the time I was nine onward, Levi Johnson and my dad collaborated on their famous fried chicken parties.
Our kitchen was always bustling and full. Biscuits would bake in the oven, while mashed potatoes, collard greens and gizzards cooked on the range. Outside on the patio, Levi and my dad fried the chicken. The whole neighborhood smelled delicious. My mom and I would make sun tea and let it rest on the stoop on our front porch for hours in a mason jar until it was just right.
My favorite part was when my dad, my sister and I…
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