My favorite memory of my Baba
When I was about 8 or 9, I went to school with a little boy named Kareem. Kareem was kind of a bully … he wasn’t the meanest bully I encountered in my childhood but he did seem to get pleasure out of tormenting other kids. Like all other bullies, Kareem had a sidekick — another little boy whose image and likeness have faded from my memory. My memories of Kareem are fuzzy except for how strongly I recall his laugh — a toothy chuckle of sorts.
My problems with Kareem started when after a reshuffling of assigned seats he ended up sitting behind me. Kareem thought it was fun to pull strands of my hair out.
He’d pull a strand of hair.
I’d feel the prick in my scalp.
I’d turn around and frustratingly tell him to “STOP!”
He and the sidekick would laugh uncontrollably.
He’d then proceed to pull another strand out.
On and on we went like this for what felt like weeks. One night at dinner I complained to my parents about the little boy in school who won’t stop pulling my hair. My dad, a stern Middle Eastern man, was outraged! No one was going to torment his little girl. He was going to get the matter sorted at school the next day after he dropped me off.
My dad and I had a close relationship. I am what we call in Arabic, “the end of the grapevine.” I was a miniature version of him who accompanied him on every outing and errand, regardless of how big or small. If my Baba was doing something, I wanted to be there right alongside him.
The next day I joined my assigned spot in the morning assembly in the school’s courtyard. Baba headed inside too but I believe he went to speak with the administrators. At that time in the 1980s, Middle Eastern schools had a morning practice where students would line up outside, sing the national anthem, do some pointless physical drills, and listen to morning announcements before heading to their classrooms for the day.
At some point in the middle of morning announcements I heard a kerfuffle as I watched my dad approach the assembled children in my class. I’m not sure why after speaking with the administrators Baba had decided to take matters into his own hands. Baba looked like he was on a mission, as my teacher scurried behind him assuring him that she can resolve the matter.
Baba was not having any of her assurances.
Baba came up to me and asked me to point out Kareem, which I happily did (I’m pretty sure I had disaster girl’s grin). Baba was a large man but had an even more intimidating presence. At the time he had a big job and was always finely dressed in the nicest European suits. He approached Kareem and asked him why he had been pulling my hair. Kareem looked petrified of my father. I stood a little taller, glad to have my dad there to protect me (and my hair) from this bully.
Kareem started crying and told Baba, “Her hair is just so shiny!”
I could see that my dad was taken aback by Kareem’s response. Baba softened and told Kareem, “OK well it hurts her head so stop doing it.”
The hair pulling stopped.
At dinner that night Baba could not stop laughing as he told this story to the rest of the family. In fact Baba got a lot of mileage out of telling this story at family functions for what felt like months and months on end. My dad was a captivating storyteller. He’d lower his voice to create suspense. He’d pause when he wanted a reaction out of his audience and then out of nowhere he’d raise his voice for the punchline. My dad’s retelling of this little incident was epic. He seemed to get so much pleasure out of this little boy and his apparent crush on his youngest daughter and her “shiny” hair.
I have no idea if what Baba did was good parenting (I’m guessing more no than yes). But that story captures so much of who my dad was and what I loved about him. He could be stern and serious, even rigid at times. There were clear rights and wrongs in the world. But Baba could also be kind, generous, and funny. There are a lot of things I miss about my dad but listening to him tell one of his stories is what I miss the most about him. I’d do anything to hear him tell one of his stories one last time.
Today is Father’s Day in the US. If you’re like me, remembering your father and father figures in your life, I wish you peace, healing, and the joy of good memories. If you’re with your dad today, cherish this moment. If holidays like this one are complicated for you, I wish you peace and healing.
