A Container of Wings

Every Sunday morning, my father would ritualistically yell “qin-ai de nu-er” (Chinese for my dear daughter) from the garage, for me to help him bring in the groceries. I programmed my sense of smell to sniff through the sourdough bread, to the lychees, and finally to the 3lb packaged chicken wings. Inside, contains buffalo, ranch, and barbequed flavors, each with a distinctive taste. 

As always, after the first bite, my smile is bigger than ever. I chatted with my parents about school and work, and even extended family gossip. More significantly, towards the end of our meal, I always find a current event that interests them to read out loud. Unlike other immigrants, my parents didn’t learn English by changing their phone settings, or through daily interactions with the American people. They stayed in touch with the language because of the cultural news article I picked weekly.

I find that my pursuit for marketing didn’t stem from professional experiences or self-discovery. To most, a container of chicken wings soley allows for a delicious meal, yet to me, it resembles a scheduled, non-negotiable time to further bond and dive into the world of pop culture.

With every wing, every lesson, half built off of my parents’ enthusiasm and my own genuinity, marketing has shaped me into the person I am today.