When I was a kid, I spent my afternoons in my mom’s bedroom, watching cartoons I thought I was too old for and eating my afternoon snack. In fifth grade, snack meant twisting apart Oreos to eat the center frosting, and then dipping each half in milk until it teetered on the verge of crumbling. My grandparents watched me and my younger siblings, and sometimes my grandfather would bring a dozen fresh doughnuts from a local bakery: jelly doughnuts dusted