More Than a Meal: How KFC Became a Symbol of Safety, Memory, and Resilience
KFC, Memory, and the Power of Connection
I’ve always enjoyed fast food, but my relationship with KFC is a curious one. My youngest son, now 19, never misses an opportunity to remind me – every time I go to order – that I will regret it later. And to be fair, I can't think of a single time when he’s been wrong. I always opt for the Original Recipe chicken with all the trimmings – never a burger, wrap, or vegan alternative.
But my connection to KFC runs far deeper than convenience or taste. It dates back to 1983, when it was still known as Kentucky Fried Chicken.
At the age of 10, my life had already been shaped by loss. My mum had died two years earlier from a brain haemorrhage, and my dad had given up work to care for us – four children aged 10, 8, 6, and 3. When he met his future second wife, he hoped for a fresh start: a second chance at happiness and the possibility of returning to work. Sadly, that wasn’t to be – but that’s another story.
One Friday evening, my dad had a surprise for us. We were going on an adventure – to Littlehampton, a seaside town on the south coast. The plan was to leave after dark, drive 90 minutes to West Sussex, spend the days on the beach, and sleep in the car at night. To us kids, it sounded magical. My dad loved fishing, and we were excited at the thought of catching crabs, playing on the beach and swimming in the sea.
That night, the car was packed and ready. Just before we were set to leave, Dad told us to stay inside while he popped down to the local garage to buy sweets for the journey. He said he’d be ten minutes. An hour passed. He didn’t return.
My imagination ran wild – had he been hit by a car? Was he lying hurt, or worse, somewhere by the roadside? I was torn: should I leave to find him, risking the safety of my siblings and disobeying his clear instructions? Or should I stay, hoping he’d simply been delayed?
A knock at the door answered the question for me.
We opened the door to find two police cars and several officers. They said we needed to come with them to the station. I don't remember what they told us about our dad – if anything – but I do remember the unfamiliar fear of climbing into a police car for the first time.
At Sutton Police Station, we were taken to a small room and offered drinks – possibly biscuits as well. The officers we met fell into two clear groups. Some were warm and friendly, chatting to us about our favourite TV shows – The A-Team, CHiPs, The Dukes of Hazzard, Knight Rider, The Fall Guy. Others asked more probing questions.
One of them stands out to this day:
“Has your dad ever hit you?”
I remember replying, “Yes, but only when we’re naughty – when we deserve it.”
They asked more about our planned trip – where we were going, how long we’d be there, what we’d be doing. At ten years old, I couldn’t connect all the dots, but the longer we stayed in that room, the more uneasy I felt. Time moved slowly. It felt like hours.
Eventually, I heard my dad’s voice – loud and unmistakable – outside the room. A police officer offered us a lift home, but my dad refused. We walked instead.
We made our way down Sutton High Street, along Angel Hill and Rosehill, eventually reaching Kentucky Fried Chicken on The Market – it’s still there 40 years later! It was only a mile and a half, but for a man walking four young, exhausted children late at night, it must have felt much further – especially given the emotional strain of the evening.
It was near closing time when we arrived, and to our amazement, my dad ordered Original Recipe chicken for all of us. I remember it vividly: it was the most delicious food I had ever tasted.
We still had another mile to walk to reach our home, but that part of the journey has faded. What remains is the memory of that first KFC meal.
What Really Happened That Night?
As we walked home, my dad explained what had happened.
The police, or perhaps social services, had received an anonymous report. Someone believed my dad, still grieving the loss of his 39-year-old wife, was struggling. But more than that: they claimed he had planned the trip to Littlehampton to murder all four of his children.
While out buying sweets, he had encountered a police van. When he refused to cooperate, he was bundled into the vehicle, taken to the local station, and locked in a cell before being interrogated. At one point, he asked that we be released into the care of his future wife – but for reasons unknown, that request was refused.
I honestly can’t remember whether we ended up going away that weekend. But we definitely had an adventure – just not the one my dad had planned.
A Taste of Something Deeper
We all carry memories and attachments – some conscious, others buried deep. I know exactly why KFC holds such a special place in my heart. It isn’t just about food. It’s about a moment when, after confusion and fear, we were reunited and safe.
There are powerful connections between John the child and John the father, husband, and trainer. Recognising how our past shapes our present – and informs our future – can deepen our sense of identity, belonging, and resilience. These insights not only support healing and reveal hidden vulnerabilities, but they also uncover unexpected strengths. In embracing these connections, we reinforce the bonds that hold families and communities together.
Sometimes, a box of chicken isn’t just a box of chicken.
It’s a symbol of survival.
A moment of peace.
A reminder of who we are, where we’ve been –
And the strength it took to get here.