Why I Love Chick-fil-A

By RISHI DHIR ‘19

If you know me at all, you know that I love Chick-fil-A. Almost every time I overhear a conversation involving fried chicken and bread, I feel a need to butt in and show off my limitless knowledge. You might have even seen me strolling around in my grey Chick-fil-A shirt that I purchased at the original restaurant in Hapeville, Georgia.

Unfortunately, news of how the Cathy family, the Chick-fil-A’s owners, have used funds from the company to fund anti-LGBT organizations has reshaped public perception of the chain. Who can blame the critics? These organizations urge kids to stop identifying as LGBT and endorse conversion treatment. At Milton, others often label me as a homophobe when I express my fondness for Chick-fil-A; they worry that I support anti-LGBT campaigning and conversion therapy. While many Milton students make this judgement, few have tried to understand the depth of my connection to Chick-fil-A. No one loves a restaurant as much as I love Chick-fil-A just because of the food; instead, I love Chick-fil-A because it was a way for me to fit in.

Growing up as an Indian kid in Texas was hard. To add even more to my pile of challenges, I was enrolled in an intensely Catholic school; as a non-Catholic, it would seem that I had created a recipe for disaster. As a result, I struggled to connect to any of my peers. I couldn’t talk to them about anything, because I didn’t share anything in common. They supported Republicans, I supported Democrats. With no one to talk to or share common interests with, I was really lonely. Chick-fil-A was my saving grace.

Raised as a Hindu, I wasn’t allowed to eat any beef. At barbeques I required a chicken burger because hot dogs and hamburgers were off limits, so naturally I felt different and othered, waiting alone for chicken to come off the grill as everyone else ate. No one likes to rely on special treatment, especially in a setting as intimate as a barbeque. Just when I felt I was at my lowest, Chick-fil-A showed up. Branded by the famed cow saying “eat more chicken” (and with no beef items on the menu), Chick-fil-A was, for me, more welcoming than a barbeque because I could eat everything on the menu. No special treatment needed. Since Texans love Chick-fil-A, I could bond with my classmates over our mutual appetite. It may seem weird that we connected over a chicken sandwich of all things, but for me the food was an avenue for discussion with others. Chick-fil-A was the only thing that really helped me feel at home in Texas. It reminded me that I belonged at a time when I thought I didn’t.

Now, in Boston, I am surrounded by people who are so much like me. Here, I’m not the single minority alone in my community. However, I still feel that there are parts of me that I have to suppress. Just a single mention of my love of Chick-fil-A garners significant disapproval and incessant ridicule. The more I mention it, the more I am separated from my community.

I’m not writing this to defend the ideals of Chick-fil-A. I am extremely against all of the homophobic beliefs that they support. I’m not happy with the company for using my dollars to directly encroach on the lives of many discriminated members of the LGBT community. However, for me, Chick-fil-A is more than just a delicious meal. When I go to that counter and pick up my spicy chicken sandwich meal with waffle fries and lemonade, I am reminded of a time when Chick-fil-A was there for me. A time when I wasn’t as alone as I thought.