karimisms

The hallway to Dad’s library in our first-floor flat in Damascus seemed to go for miles as I dodged the furniture pieces dashing into the room lined with book shelves in every direction. Mother was chasing me as fast as her little feet could carry her screaming: “Come here you misbehaving little trouble maker”. Sitting in the corner of the room was a familiar sight, my dad in his “Abaya”, a camelhair house rob, reading. Never slowing down, I continued my run into him. He opens the Abaya smiling, and I jump in onto his chest, which seemed to my seven-year-old body the size of a small oasis. He closes the Abaya and returns to reading. I would lay there still as a rock listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. From my dark and cozy cocoon, I would hear mother entering the room and asking dad about my ware bouts. He acts innocent of seeing me. Mother sounds doubtful as he assures her that I might be hiding in another room. I hear her moving a chair, then departing. As her footsteps fade, dad starts laughing. His chest starts vibrating in a deafening, welcome noise as he opens the Abaya and looks at me with his loving eyes. “We did it again,” he says as he kisses me and squeezes me so tight I could hardly breath.

This continued for over a year. I would misbehave, a daily occurrence in my youth, and he would hide me from mother; who was the desiplanariun in the family. As I grew in size, our cover was finally blown when mother noticed that dad looked rather large one day.

Kerridean Shamsi-Basha passed way on February 3rd last year after 88 years of protecting my siblings and I from all threats. He was a renowned Poet and a writer with over 15 several-volume books on Arabic literature and poetry under his belt. He spent fifteen years writing an encyclopedia on Arabic proverbs that is considered today the most comprehensive book on the subject. The year before his death, he was honored with the most prestigious literature award in Syria: The Outstanding Life-Time Achievement Award by the Ministry of Culture & Education for his efforts in preserving the Arabic language.

I left Syria twenty years ago to enjoy freedom in the United States. Now that dad is gone, my one regret is that I missed being with him every second that I could. We had a connection rare between father and son. We would talk for hours about matters that ranged from my school work to politics, religion, love, and my obsession in my teenage years: freedom. He told me that Syria offered limited freedom. And while most people could make-do with that concept, He longed for me to experience more. He managed to lean on his literary fame, but he aspired for me to go where I could literally fly. “You will actually fly with wings someday, and I will taste freedom through you” he would tell me during my senior year in high school when I was applying at the University of Tennessee. He wanted me to live life, and live it abundantly.

He suffered during the Palestinian – Israeli conflict from what I affectionately called in my teenage years: too much Arabism. I was out to change this world, and I wanted to believe the conflict had ensued from both sides. We fought over this one every day. He would always defend the Arabs, and I would be more neutral than he wanted me to be. Fathers in the Arab world do not usually have sons that disagree with them, especially about politics. I was “the last grape,”a term meaning the youngest son, and I got away with murder. Then I grew up and understood my father’s stance. I saw the conflict as one which evokes emotions of support and defiance in both sides. Arabs see it as an Israeli problem; Israelis see it as an Arab problem. As to who is right, I will never know. I just hope they start looking forward instead of back, in my lifetime,

He was also a master teacher in the department of “love.” Like many Mediterranean men, he was extremely passionate about showing his love for mother. He used to tell me: “Never forget to tell your future wife that she is the most beautiful creature on the planet…and do it every day” He was a believer in the man protecting his princess and making sure all of her wishes come true.

He taught me many more lessons, with one resonating the most: “Regardless of any circumstance, always do the right thing.” While not being the most profound statement, it has been the hardest one to adhere to. “If you keep only one virtue in life, make it integrity. You will never regret it,” he would always say.

Dad, you lived, and died, with integrity, and while knowing my own faults and limitations, I will always do my best to be as pure and virtuous as you wanted me to be.

I wear your Abaya now, and I shield my own children when they need a place to hide.

I love you.