Some People Might Appreciate It

We roamed the aisles of the Chinese market looking for things to add to the soup. Things from the television cooking show, things from my father's memory. We couldn't ask for help because no one spoke English, so we simply bagged baby bok choy, napa cabbage, carrots, and snow peas. The store smelled of foreign spices and I grabbed my father's hand when we walked passed the tanks filled with lobsters and crabs. I was eight years old and it was the first time my dad was making won ton soup.

Back at home, he cleared our small kitchen and worked on preparing the meat for the center of each wonton. I placed rows of thin wonton shells on a cutting board and my dad filled them with his savory creation. I remember thinking Jackie Chan would've been proud. He taught me how to fold the layers of the wonton over each other and we quickly made a small pile of dumplings.

We had very little money back then–and my father's knowledge of Eastern cuisine was based solely on his memory of the Chinese immigrant chef on the television show, Bonanza–but it was the best soup I'd ever tasted. Our family sat around the table as my dad ladled the simmering deliciousness and we praised him for his creativeness. And my wonton wrapping ways.

Years later, I can't help but think I've taken the same principles and applied them to my life. Regardless of my circumstances, knowledge, or comfortability, if I love what I do and pour myself into making something I'm proud of, some people might appreciate it. Around the dinner table…or somewhere along the mangled path of following my dreams.