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""I love you,"" my father said proud of his English. Never in my twenty years have I heard those
words----not that I cared so much. Or maybe I was just not used to and never expected it, but it
came as a surprise. A smile took hold of my lips slanting them upwards. I controlled it with a
calm response, ""I love you, too."" I don''t think my father heard it or probably didn''t really wait
for it. He just yawned and looked around at the empty dining room table waiting for his dinner in
the late hours of America''s night. I looked over at him from the kitchen counter ----studied him
in his collared gray and black shirt and gray boxers. I quickly put injeraon a plate for him. He sat
there not noticing. I noticed.
This particular night I was glad my mother was over in the living room just nodding off into the
mysterious (English) sounds of Dateline. The TV was on and she was off! I took my respectful
self to the table and set Abaye''s plate, rushing back for the qeyeh tsebhi (qey weT) and shiro. On
the first day of his arrival a week or so ago, he called it ""nay qol-ut migbi"" (""ye-lijoch
migib""). He referred to any food my sisters and I cooked as that. I figured a hungry stomach
doesn''t complain. I didn''t say anything about the food or the fact that I was a rushing genie
fulfilling his every three or more wishes. All I knew was that the VERY ""normal"" acts- such as
my mother walking a cup of tea to my father- made me (ooooof!) stop and stare. It was nothing
eko! I mean really, this didn''t hurt anybody right? Nor did it make a big difference in anybody''s
day! We, the children, better serve our parents. That will never be my (serious) complaint. The simple
fact that I never have or probably never will see my father steadily holding a cup of tea and
walking to the living room where my mother lounged, and serving her is what made the ball of
thought roll downhill this particular starless night. That''s just the way it is! Not even once will I
see him getting her tea. It''d probably not feel ""natural"". I know this is probably not a surprise
to most of you. ""What''s the big deal?"" The big deal is my family=my life. I see them and see me and wonder what type of man I''m
going to marry. The lovely traits that I adore and respect my father for are almost evenly balanced
with and exceed unacceptable behaviors that I surely don''t expect in my other half. A few summers back, my father came to visit without my mother. He tore up the kitchen in order to find oil----yes oil, and completely opened up every possible cupboard, drawer, box. He never found it. My sister found my father totally confused and hungry when she came home from school. He had had a taste for some eggs and to his surprise, the oil was right under the oven. This summer more of the same stuff, and I was left awed. Like him pushing his way into an airport shuttle ahead of my mother was hilarious! He had and has no sense of courtesy for a lady. Scratch that! That''s asking too much. Correction: ""……no sense of courtesy at least for my mother!"" I was shocked and shook it off
seeing how my mother didn''t even notice. Did it not bother her? Boy, they sent the wrong girl out
of the country! I joined my father at the table after all his requests were met. My mother is strong. I knew that----always have----but little incidents reinforce my knowledge of what she is all about. (She''s the best cook but we''ll leave that one alone) She is love, patience, wisdom, etc. This night, I remembered the other word that fell under the category called my Emaye: set. Everything was without choice……or so it seems. I sit amazed at how I can be a part of her (looks and some behaviors aside) yet so different. And every time I get to see her, I will sit still in thought as if our obvious natures have never crossed my mind. Different generations? Maybe. Different environments? Maybe. All I know is that I''m thankful for where ever I''ve been and whoever I''ve met that helped in making me my mother''s and father''s daughter. On a beautiful sunny summer morning, my father asked me why I''m choosing journalism over math or science. He slowly tried to convince me to check out med-school or pharmacy or…… I am grateful for our differences. I told him it wasn''t for me----none of them were. ""Ohhhh……gazETeNa!"" he tried to take it in slowly but I saw it hit him hard. He stared down at the wet green grass. After a good half hour I think he realized that the conversation wasn''t going anywhere and he convinced himself that he ""Okayed"" my choice. ""Eshi yhunilish……."" ! (Whaaaaaaaaat?!) Well, I laughed to myself, let him ""win"" and thanked him for ""allowing"" me to continue my interest in journalism or photojournalism or photography or……(see Abaye, don''t hold your breath. I''m STILL undecided!) Look, the tables may have been set for individuals like my parents, but most of us aren''t aware of the kind of life that''s been laid out on red carpet for us. Take advantage, explore, and be grateful! Ye dig?
Beace outside! (Must be said w/ Ethio accent) |
