The Gingerbread Winds

People may not think so, but the gingerbread society is greatly affected by weather patterns. We usually are much quicker at predicting weather around the globe. We are also deeply affected by weather, emotionally, psychologically, and physically. Let's start with summer. Summer is hard for us, due to the fact that not many humans crave a warm gingerbread cookie. Those who were baked in Spring often fall ill or go stale during summer, leaving us nearly extinct. We always know when fall is coming because we smell a part of us-cinnamon- roasting throughout our building. If we are placed next to one of these wax fire things, our frosting often melts. The parents cry. The gumdrop buttons fall. Winter is welcoming season for us gingerpeople. We consider ourselves the dominant species on Earth at this time. I was born in winter, so we also get to celebrate my birthday (yippee)! Spring is when the doctor's are most busy. Humans are always trying this whole "I'm gonna be skinny this year" thing, so ginger people are often ripped in half-literally. "The Los Angelos Notebook" claims that humans know when the Santa Ana winds are coming, but please, us gingerpeople really predict when it's coming. People eat weather gingerbread men and then call themselves meteorologists. How rude! So next time you wonder where your intelligence comes from, you may not have to even look past your cookie jar.

Gingerly,
Gingy

Consider the Gingerbread Man

I'm going to preface this by saying that yes, we are a delicious society. We go great with milk when we're fresh out of the oven. We are sweet and spicy and warm and smiling. The fresh frosting applied to us contrasts the spices, cleansing the palette in a sweet way. We are shaped just like you are, bringing a friendly and playful feelings to your eating experience.
               However, when you, or your kids, bite into us, we experience tremendous pain. Our lives flash before our own eyes. We know we only have a few seconds left, and yet we cannot say goodbye to anyone. Our gumdrop buttons are usually the first to go, which are the most painful. How would it feel if we ripped your toes off before diving into a fresh slice of you?!? It's usually better if you eat our heads first. The worst is over, and we don't have any feelings left to comprehend the pain. And think about the funeral process we have to go through. There's no body!! We cannot pay proper respects because we only have a few crumbs(if any) to remember our family by. The sadness, the hardships, the endless stream of frosting tears! So, before thinking of all the crunchy goodness we provide your family with, consider the gingerbread man who works tirelessly only to have a long, painful death apart from their family.

Gingerly,
Gingy

P.S. My life once flashed before my eyes, and it was even caught on video! Here's the link to get a full background on my life: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTQ-bt5IA3I

Gingerbread MAN

When Gingerpeople come out of the oven, we are gender neutral. We are not given a specified gender until our frosting is applied. (And let us pray that we are frosted by an adult because kids are usually the culprits of creating ugly gingerbread.) I was never given a gender-specific frosting, but I have always been classified as a man. People always classified me as a man because of my plain look. All gingerbread women had elaborate clothes, with lots of frosting details. Men, on the other hand, had very plain white frosting outlines, if at all. So, I was classified as a gingerbread man because of stereotyping. This situation reminds me of the piece "Black Men and Public Space," because although I have no major effect on my society, I am stereotyped in it. I have to take care of my family because I am a man. I have to fix up our home when the table and chairs crack, because I am a man. And I have to be called a man everyday when I just want to be called Gingy. My family is looking up to me to be the man, but I just want to be me. As a man who has fought society to be myself, I can truly say that the best thing to be is yourself. 

Gingerly, 
Gingy

Sugar, Eggs, Flour, DNA

My father and I were never close. We were strictly related by containing the same ingredients and being mixed in the same bowl. Some call this batter, but to us gingerpeople, it is DNA. The exact ingredient makeup, measurements, oven temperature, and setting is what differentiates us from gingerbread in Africa. But I digress, my father and I always saw the world differently. He viewed life in a cookie jar as depressing, corrupt, and confining, while I saw our cookie jar as home, a place where we could celebrate our short lifespans by becoming close to one another. I read Vowell's piece to seek insight on what human relationships are like, and much like how Vowell became closer to her dad later in life, I grew much closer to my dad in his last few days with us. We argued so much about the definition of happiness, we discovered that we make ourselves happy by being together. Unfortunately, our happiness didn't last long, we knew his time was coming when a human came home from school hungry. We had to say very quick goodbyes. I was last, and when I hugged him he whispered, "never frost the wrong side of a cookie." I knew that he meant to say be kind, but he but his own cynical twist on it as usual, that made me smirk for what would be the last time. I miss my dad more and more everyday, but he left me one of his crumbs. And one day, I am going to eat that crumb and become the grown gingerbread my dad would have wanted. 

Gingerly, 
Gingy