For Dad

Tonight, as a part of my program’s weekly “cultural” experience, our group spent the evening in Azzeh Refugee Camp. A man named Mashour took us for a tour of the camp, fed us dinner, and then took us to meet with a 1948 survivor who was herded into the camp in 1948 as a part of the Diaspora of the Palestinians. The man, Abu Ahmid, described life as a refugee, the events of ‘48 from his personal experience, and his hopes for the future. It was a powerful, quasi-emotional hour that was humbling to the core. Afterwards I went to thank Mashour for facilitating the night’s events and he offered to take me upstairs to see his house. He and his wife built the humble and simple floor on top of his parents home (as a refugee in Azzeh camp there is no room to build out, so they build up). He showed me into the room he made for his children. Painted on the walls were cartoons of Mickey Mouse and other American cartoon icons. As we left the room and stood in the hallways, the conversation turned personal. First, here’s something you have to understand: in a place like Palestine with so much suffering, grief, and complexity of narrative, it is easy to put up a guard. In a subconscious, “Freudian protective mechanism,” I had up to this point in my journey built a safe wall around my spirit as a means of maintaining my sanity. And let me tell you, tonight that wall came crashing down. Mashour told me that although he has suffered, he is doing his best to provide a “better life” for his children, just as his own father did for him. Looking back into his childrens’ bedroom with the painted walls designed to bring joy to his young children, memories of my own father flooded my mind. Memories of dad coaching me in Little League, playing catch with me in the backyard, taking me to Dairy Queen for my favorite “chocolate-dipped ice cream cone,” as well as many others filled my mind. All my dad has ever wanted for me is a “better life;” one full of hope, faith, and joy. I began to cry in front of a man I had just met. As he described to me his love of his children and his life’s mission to to provide for them, my guard dropped. You know the way the woman you love can disarm you with a look and a smile? How you become so instantly and beautifully vulnerable in that very moment that all hopes of self-protection evaporate? In a similar way, I became disarmed tonight listening to a man describe his love of his children and I wept as if I were listening to my own father express his love to me. So dad, even though I’m on the other side of the world from you, you told me tonight how much you love me and I wept, and continue to do so, out of my appreciation for you.

Submitted by MT