My designs often appear “somehow-strange” to my parents and often cause laughter. During my time in Chengdu, my creations have occasionally landed in my parents’ hands at home. Each time this happens, they start a little conversation to guess what they are, where they come from, and where they should go.
Dad: What’s this? [Picks it up and turns it around to view it from all directions.]
Mom: Socks?
Dad: It’s too huge to be socks.
Mom: Hmm, we’d better not to touch it.
Dad: You’re right. It’s probably one of those weird samples Ping made.
In the evening, I cannot find my hat.
Me: Dad, have you seen my hat?
Dad: We dare not touch anything of yours. So no.
He’s afraid that I will blame him for anything I can’t find. Later, I find my hat’s twin, and I dangle it in front of his face. “Look, a piece like this. I made it from a sleeve.”
Dad: "Hahaha! Your mom and I tried for a long time to figure out what that was! Now I see—it’s a sleeve! Here it is.”
I’m so glad that my parents haven’t given me any torn, dirty rags thinking they must be my artwork. So far.
Dad: What’s this? [Picks it up and turns it around to view it from all directions.]
Mom: Socks?
Dad: It’s too huge to be socks.
Mom: Hmm, we’d better not to touch it.
Dad: You’re right. It’s probably one of those weird samples Ping made.
In the evening, I cannot find my hat.
Me: Dad, have you seen my hat?
Dad: We dare not touch anything of yours. So no.
He’s afraid that I will blame him for anything I can’t find. Later, I find my hat’s twin, and I dangle it in front of his face. “Look, a piece like this. I made it from a sleeve.”
Dad: "Hahaha! Your mom and I tried for a long time to figure out what that was! Now I see—it’s a sleeve! Here it is.”
I’m so glad that my parents haven’t given me any torn, dirty rags thinking they must be my artwork. So far.
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