“I didn’t know much English back then, but I knew enough to order a McChicken sandwich and a cheeseburger.”
allowed to go to alone was the McDonald’s around the corner. Our family went so often that my parents eventually allowed us to walk there and back by ourselves. At 13, I carried the $15 my dad handed me while my brother Kenny, then 7, held onto a torn piece of lined paper with our order: eight McChicken sandwiches, six cheeseburgers, and — don’t forget! — a few handfuls of ketchup packets.
At home, our family of four gathered around the coffee table as I unpacked the sandwiches one at a time. I went for the McChickens, preferring breaded chicken breast to shrunken beef patty. Peeling apart the damp wrapper revealed a toasted bun, lightly peppered chicken, shredded lettuce, and mayo — a combination that still tugs at my appetite today. My dad’s favorite was the cheeseburger, though he scraped off each pickle slice before taking a bite.
Every time we got off the bus at our usual stop, my parents stood a little straighter, smiled a little wider. I saw this change especially in my mom, who craved to see and speak with people like her. My dad had his Vietnamese coworkers; my mom was more alone in her otherness. A gregarious woman, she wanted to befriend everyone during our first years in America. She still does, though not as passionately since Kenny and I grew up.
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