The Night My Son Followed the Rule and Still Lost the Chicken Wing

I made chicken wings for dinner. There were enough for the meal, not enough for second helpings. Erbao ate one wing and reached for another. The plate was empty. He looked at his cousin’s bowl. Three wings sat there. Erbao said nothing, looked down, and went back to his rice.

I saw the whole thing. I did not take a wing from my nephew’s bowl. I did not tell Erbao that he was older and should let it go. I kept eating. The table stayed quiet.

After dinner, Erbao came into the kitchen with his empty cup while I washed dishes. “There were no wings left tonight,” I said. “You didn’t get enough.” “Mm,” he said. “I’ll make more tomorrow. I’ll set some aside for you first.” He nodded and went to his homework. I put the cup in the sink. “You followed the rule,” I said. “I saw that. But the rule has to work for everyone, not just you.”

He stopped in the doorway. “Why does he get to keep three?” I dried my hands on the towel. “Because nobody told him not to. That’s on the grown-ups, not on you.” He thought about that for a second, then went to his room. I stood at the sink for a minute. The sponge was still in my hand.

The next morning I wrote a shopping list on the back of an envelope. Chicken wings: fourteen. I counted them out in my head. Four for Erbao. Four for his cousin. Three for my sister. Three for me. I added a line under it: small bowls. Then I crossed out small bowls and wrote middle plate.

That evening I counted before I cooked. I set a bowl in front of each person. I put four more wings on a plate in the middle of the table. The middle plate sat by the rice cooker.

My nephew looked at his four wings. Then he looked at the middle plate. He picked up his chopsticks and started eating. Erbao finished his four. He wiped his fingers on a paper towel. “Mom, can I have another one?” “There are some in the middle plate,” I said. “Take one.” He took one. His cousin watched him take it. Then his cousin took one too. Two wings stayed on the middle plate.

Nobody grabbed. Nobody stacked. The table was quieter than usual, but not in a bad way.

Later, when the children were in the other room, my sister asked, “Why are we dividing them now?” “Wings are easy to count,” I said. “The kids all like them. If they’re already in bowls, nobody has to grab.” She put the leftover rice in the fridge. “I didn’t think it was a problem,” she said. “It wasn’t a problem for you,” I said. “It was a problem for Erbao. He follows the rule and then watches the plate go empty.” She didn’t say anything. She went to fold laundry. I wiped down the counter.

On the third day, my sister came back from the market with a bag of chicken wings. She put the bag on the counter and counted them before she cooked. She set out four small bowls. Four wings went into each child’s bowl. Three went into mine. Three went into hers. The rest went on a plate in the middle. She didn’t make a speech. She put the bowls on the table.

Erbao ate five that day. His cousin ate five. Two wings stayed on the middle plate. Nobody reached for them. The rice cooker clicked off. The plates were cleared. My sister covered the last two wings with plastic wrap and put them in the fridge.

I looked at the fridge door for a second. Then I went to help Erbao with his spelling words. He had a test on Friday. He needed to practice “enough” and “though.” He kept mixing up the endings. We worked on it for ten minutes. Then he went to brush his teeth. The kitchen light was still on. The middle plate was already in the sink.