A Father’s Day Tribute to “History Teacher” Dads

Our Sundays are usually bright and sparkly; on a typical, school-year Sunday morning, I embark on making breakfast for my two princesses. Nutella covered Paratha and freshly sliced bananas; we discuss the upcoming week, homework, projects, field-trips and many other things about school and how we may navigate through the next week.

Later, we decide to jump into the pool and splash around together, or maybe take a walk down to the beach to play in the Atlantic! In the evening, we fire up the grill for some hamburgers and hot-dogs and enjoy it with a spectacular sunset on the balcony.This is our typical Sunday; some food, some play, some homework and a lot of relaxation – rejuvenation for another week of work/school/routine. I want to keep my eight-year old energized while enjoying our time together.

This Sunday, when a friend comes to visit, Shania seems overjoyed, almost ecstatic. I ask her why she is so happy to see my friend; her answer is quite blunt, “Dad, you’re like a history teacher, your friend is more fun to play with!”

When did I become the history teacher? I thought I was the fun Dad!
I take my daughters to their first rock concerts, I swim with Dolphins with them, we discover exotic lands, and build castles out of cardboard boxes.
Learning and maneuvering through the different challenges of parenthood, I realize, at some point, routine and familiarity does cramp one’s “style” and the day-to-day monotony sets in.

I remember my father, as a quiet, serious man; I can count, with my fingers, how many times my Dad spent time with me for the eighteen years that we lived together. I don’t remember him ever laughing out loud with us. I remember him playing cards with me, or Monopoly, or reading books. I remember playing tennis with him once. But that’s the extent of our interactions.

I don’t remember him swimming or biking with us – or taking us to the ice-cream store for spontaneous mint-chocolate-chip ice-cream. It makes me wonder whether I have become the “history teacher” because, I just don’t have a great example of a “Fun-Dad” to emulate.

Striking that delicate balance of craving to be a fun Dad (or parent), while setting boundaries or maintaining routine sanity, is one of those most difficult, yet nuanced decisions in our lives . In fact, similar to a photograph, it’s not a particular decision or snapshot – it’s a series of decisions – more like continuously playing video. Every day you adjust, focus and continue to move forward.

I have found that while most children enjoy the “fun-Dad” specter once-in-a-while; they continue to like and respect boundaries, they like some structure, as long as it’s not burdensome, illogical, irrational or suppressive. With the relentless encouragement to do their best, children seem to thrive, push our boundaries and make us better Dads (parents).

This morning, my eight-year-old Shania tells me that she doesn’t want me to prepare her morning cup of hot-chocolate anymore; she adds, “I like your hot-chocolate, but I like the way I make my own”.

It’s awesome, when children grow up and take over their own responsibilities, and from far away, we can sit back and watch them grow up – and silently reminisce (almost crave) for that last Sunday morning, when the pool water was warm – and I was the History Teacher, soaking in every drop of my summer. I know these days of being a History Teacher are limited and not going to last forever.

Suddenly, being a History Teacher, for a few more days, doesn’t seem like too bad a role!

Darkness, Dogma and Everything Else: The Fears of Parents

When I was a teenager, my mother had an absurd rule; I had to return home before sundown. You could leave in the next hour and be out late – but you have to be home at sundown!

I always wondered what was her fear – was it the darkness of the night, or some sort of superstition of the Jinn? Or is it just a lack of spatial awareness in the dark.

This week, for the first time, Daiyaan, my almost eighteen-year old, is off on her own – far away in a foreign land. On the first evening, I sit on the balcony of my high-rise condominium and feel like crying as I watch the sunset. I wonder how she is doing, is she safe, did she eat her meals properly. Now, I know how my mother must have felt, when I first didn’t return after leaving home.

Such is the nature of parenting and a parent’s inner fears.

Some fears are inherent in us – unique to us – while some have been passed to us from generation to generation. As we grow older, our fears get embedded in us and we try to implant these in our children.

My father had some fear about children having their hair wet. Even in my teens, he would come out with a towel trying to dry my hair, just a bit more. He was convinced that we could catch a cold, if our hair was wet! This habit now has passed on to me and I keep running after Shania, comically, drying her hair after she comes out of the shower.

All irrational, unexplainable fears – but also part and parcel of who we are and what we have become!

Don’t go out after dark!

Don’t eat (bone-in) fish at night!

No Bananas to be eaten at night!

Don’t draw attention to yourself!!

Don’t enjoy life too much, and, if you choose to, don’t put it on your Facebook profile for others to see!!

We grow up with all sorts of dogma – all sorts of fear; often that fear takes over our day-to-day activities.

Once, some twenty-two years ago, driving through the New Mexico desert, as the sun was setting, in all its glory, I heard my mother weep at the back of the car; I couldn’t quite understand why this super-strong Principal of a High School was crying in this beautiful setting. I didn’t understand her fear of the dark – nor did I realize that it was something that was embedded in her, most likely at childhood.

Today, my fears are around my children – and them possibly getting hurt. I know there is just not enough time in the day, nor moments of sheer lucidity, to simultaneously keep track of every movement of a teenager, on a foreign trip – or a eight-year old who is just learning to spread her wings.

I think, the only thing a parent can do, is try their best.

Since we have very limited capabilities, the goal is to give them those values and decision frameworks that allow them to make the right choices to avoid a dangerous path – or try to make a decision to not associate with all that’s evil around us. Some of us try to give them everything we have (and sometimes what we never had); once we have given them our best, we just have to learn to take a deep breath and sigh.

The children have to make their own mistakes; take their own “road less traveled”.

The best we can do is not to install our dogmas and fears in their lives. Allow them to live on this beautiful earth – sampling everything with the fearless abandon of life.

Shania gets ready to go to bed; she reads her book for twenty minutes, says her prayer, clutches her stuffed toy and turns towards her pillow. I kiss her forehead and say a silent prayer so that she gets a restful night of sleep. That’s all you can really do. You can’t be there watching over them – or give her all your fears and dogmas. She deserves her own fears and her own new dreams!

Commemorating a Disaster: 2 years and a few days later

It’s easy to celebrate a birthday, an anniversary, a victory or a successful completion of something meaningful; but it’s excruciatingly painful to remember that particular day that your child was hurt, or your parent died, or your loved one left.

It happens to all of us; in one way or another, in small or big ways; tragedies and disasters are part of the human landscape and in many ways define who we are or who we become.

How does one get over that day, or that particular moment when the car accident happened; how do you remember that moment that you throw soil on the draped body of someone you truly love or that day you watched the disoriented face of someone you thought you loved, on a TV or hospital monitor, with the blazing lines of security lights flickering on and off.

Life is all about moving forward; every day, every minute is about that particular moment and the next moment that comes after that. The past is “water under the bridge”. Still, the past creates a context of who we are, why we are here and in a lot ways, provides clues to where we may ultimately end up. It’s impossible to forget the past and not acknowledge that these challenging times define our character and how we treat the rest of the world.

One of the first tragedies of my seven or eight year-old life was the day our little, happy-go-lucky daschund puppy disappeared. In our tranquil Joypahar, the absence of him wagging his tail, whenever I came down the stairs, was a void that took a few days to fill. Time went by; we made new friends and learned new sports and somehow filled that void.  Still I remember that sultry evening, when Bimbo never came back. We had people looking for him all over the hill – calling his name till it got pitch dark and my mom assured me that he would be back in the morning.

In my teens, it was one hot May evening, as I returned home after watching a play with some friends, there was the unfamiliar “woo-woo” sound of the ambulance on our doorstep – and I saw my father being carried away in an unconscious state to the hospital. I still remember the moment in crystal clear detail– the time of the pronouncement of his death – my dramatic mother wailing – while at age eighteen, I knew that the my life had changed, forever.

In many ways, my life has been defined by that incidence, on that fateful day. As the “ground beneath me shifted”, I started to climb, without hesitation and didn’t know that I could stop, rest, breathe or dream any more. I didn’t know where I was headed – or why I was headed in that direction. I had to run away from my past and move towards an undefined future.

Even though, that may have been one of those most important days of my life, rarely do I spend that day, celebrating or commemorating. I don’t say a prayer on that day or light any candles. If anything, I try to forget that day ever happened.

A little more than two years ago, I had another unique tragedy that changed the lives of all my loved ones. I have written a series of essays around that time as I was experiencing that tragedy in suspended disbelief; The First Day of the Rest of My Life or The Day After the Tragedy,  Jumping Into a Meandering River, Decisions with “No Regrets”,  are all essays of that time with no instructions of how to move forward in life.

Time has passed by; I have moved forward and so has everyone.

This year, on that particular day, my seventeen year-old and I exchange simple texts, “Do you remember this day, two years ago;” She replies, “I was just thinking about it”. We don’t discuss any further.  The wounds are still open and it still hurts to have a discussion.

Grief and mourning are part of all our lives; even animals grieve tragedy. We must give grief its due. How we handle ourselves during and after the grief is what defines who we are or who we become.

Some exploit the grief to become “victims” – orphans of a tragedy. Others take that tragedy and make something out of it – learn from it, not let the scars completely change their world-view.

If you let tragedy change who you are, than you must not have been that person in the first place.

Tomorrow morning, as the sun rises over the clear-blue, I wish to walk the beach – notice the fresh layer of sand beneath my feet, touch the salty water, and promise myself to live the best I can, for however many days are gifted to me.

While tragedy may engulf us any day, we must find the new sand to re-vitalize our own lives and promise to live the best we can. Nobody said we have to live the exact life we lived in the past. The future, however, can be momentous and full of joy – if that’s what we choose for it to be.

I will look forward to that day when this particular month or that particular date will not be a considered a “black” day/month and I will pass without commemoration or memory.

Time heals all wounds; I know, that day is coming.

The Twisted World of Bullying: March 27 2013

During the holiday season, I sent out a card with pictures of my family. Of more than 100 cards that I sent, one person sent me back a nasty message about the card and how I was an “imperialist pig with aspirations of entering the white-man’s universe!”

Awestruck with this reaction, I decided to “divorce” this “friend” completely from my life and eliminate all connections.

Life’s too short to deal with bullies like these who want you to feel bad about yourself or respond to their twisted sentiments. Whether it’s some sort of personal inadequacy or chemical imbalance, bullying, is not something that should be accepted gracefully.

It took me some 30 years to come to terms with the fact, that I was bullied as a child.

I went to a prestigious Catholic school and my parents were completely oblivious to this fact– because I was embarassed  to talk to them about this.

I was not a small kid but was never athletic; having skipped a grade, I didn’t have the physical prowess of most of my older class-mates. For five years, from sixth through tenth grade, I never got into a fight – nor did anyone physically touch me.

A couple of the older, stronger boys would lurk in the school hallways and made eye-hand gestures suggesting that they would physically assault me if they got me alone. I was so scared,  for the next 5 years, not once did I ever use the facilities of my school; I learned bladder control very well.

It was never totally clear to me whether it was just that I was a new kid, or I was picked as the random target of their anger;  I always wondered, whether it was just me that they bullied.

During those days, I used to think of only one thing; one day, I will succeed so big, that those bullies would have to look up at me from their lowly scum of the earth places.

Bullies have a tendency of making you feel smaller; as if something’s wrong with you or that you have inadvertently committed a crime of sorts. Bullies can be assertive and obnoxious in language, or passive-aggressive in nature which leads to taunting, verbal harassment or even non-verbal gestures.

If not stopped early, these young bullies often turn into as adult bullies and bring their belligerence to the workplace.

About 15 years ago, I was a senior executive of a major multi-national corporation and a newly appointed GM tried to bully me into submission. Sometimes it was harsh language – and at other times it was taunting and coaxing at the entire staff. The funny thing is that this individual didn’t just bully me – but our customers, our unionized work-team and his own leadership team. As news of this bullying spread, he was fired.

The questions that must be asked: do we let bullies change us, or our choices enough, to become someone else?  Do we start behaving differently because we let bullies dictate our way of life?

On a grander nation-state scale, imagine the world changing every day to demands of bully states North Korea or Iran!

If you have been bullied, verbally or physically, at school, work or inside your family, the first thing is to acknowledge that you are being bullied and come to the firm conclusion that this bullying is simply wrong.

Once you accept/understand that you are being bullied – the next step is to muster enough courage to stand up and gather the necessary resources/support/courage to confront the bully – and if practical – put an end to this. Sometimes, one has to just verbally confront the bully; at other times, you need a higher authority to step in and put an end to it. I have seen instances of bullying of the perpetrator into a corner and positioning them such that they can’t bully any more.

The history of bullying goes many generations or centuries. It may even be natures ways of promoting the survival of the fittest. We cannot stop bullying just by resisting it; however, we can stop the impact that bullies have on us. It’s a question of how much we are willing to compromise or change.

As a father of two daughters, I am always cognizant that bullying may occur at their schools, play yards or parties. Today, there is also the threat of continuous cyber-bullying. I try to prepare them with tools to deal with bullying – specially the verbal, silent or cyber bullying they are most likely to experience.

My coaching for them is that , if anyone harasses them, the first thing is to tell someone else – someone safe – authorities at school or, me.  For this, they need to know that someone will believe them and not just blow away their complaints as “fiction”. As parents, we may not be able to be present for our children at every corner; however, if they are bullied, they can count on safe places to reach for help.

Finally, if it’s a friend or family member is bullying them, I am encouraging them to end that relationship altogether. History or context of relationships may burden us with a need to remain in contact with a bullying family or “friend”. Once you realize that there are lot’s of good people around to make new friends and one or two bullies in your life can easily ejected from your life.

(Sometimes) You Have to be a Jerk to Get Attention: March 12 2013

One of those “Aha!” moments at a business negotiation class: the irrational negotiator, often (not always) gets the better deal!

Imagine two race car drivers, who are heading towards each other, in high speed, where, if neither party veers off-course, both are destined to mutually assured destruction. No rational person would allow such an outcome! However, one of those race-car drivers will turn/veer allowing the other one to continue and win his course.

In this predicament, we even discussed the possibility of having a spare steering wheel during the race, that can be thrown out of the window, signaling to the other race-car driver that you have absolutely no control of the car; hence forcing him to veer off-course!

Look at the nations of North Korea or Iran today; the war-signals they are sending to the United States, is very similar behaving irrationally, akin to throwing the steering wheel out of the car!! History will tell one day, if they are bluffing or just acting desperate.

Sometimes, we are faced with such a conundrum at work – to behave irrational – so that people can’t take you for granted or be “predictable” on a day-to-day basis.
Once, at a negotiating meeting, with a senior-leader at a multi-billion dollar corporation, he threw a 30 page document across a long mahagony table, letting me know that he doesn’t care!! Definitely was a theatrical and dramatic move that got my attention.

In business life, often the dramatic, chaotic, noisy bullies get more attention than do the sober, rational, pleasant people. As leaders, we must always be aware of this situation and take measures so that bullies don’t rule the world. Once, one of my VPs would habitually start off every meeting with a negative statement. After cringing at his tirade a few times, he had to be confronted that this is unacceptable behavior and neither I, nor his peers appreciated this model.

Sometimes, you just have to hold your hand up and say STOP. This behavior is unacceptable! Most of the time, this boundary-setting works; sometimes it creates a bit more chaos at first, but eventually the babble-rouser leaves or simmers down.
In my recent personal history, I have also experienced a similar outcome with individuals who want to raise hell, creating chaos in my life. They come attacking you like a jailed cat – if you don’t listen to their threats – they will create massive chaos and destruction in your lives and the ones you love.

In every instance, personal or professional, I have found that the last thing you want to do is pay too much attention to noise-makers; also you don’t want to be the completely predictable, “dull & boring” (D&B) bosses or partners. Not sure if it’s just our animal instincts, but people react and respond sometimes – when there is measured unpredictability! You don’t have to be a (complete) jerk – neither do you have to be a (really) nice guy; you have to find a delicate balance of both.

In a recent personal crisis, I took the helm of the situation, calmed everybody down – made difficult decisions and most importantly, shouldered the responsibilities of life alone – without help from anyone. At one point, my nicety was taken as a sign of weakness – and some people wanted me to take more responsibility and/or have just taken me for granted.

I have found, just by a “gentle” push back – majority of these situations can be corrected. At the end, there are fewer jerks you have to take on one-on-one in a confrontation. In that case, come prepared with examples, situations and your worst-day, bad-anxiety behavior. Hopefully, that rarely happens to you.

However much we try to remain leveled, and do the right, rational and fair thing – the world sometimes needs boundary-setting. As we try our best to accommodate every one else’s best interest, it’s also very important that we are treated fairly by others.

Instruction Manuals for Children : February 7, 2013

I wonder, like new gadgets, why there aren’t instruction manuals for parents to figure out the whims and vagaries of their new-born or growing children. Originating from the same genetic pool, how two children can be so different from each other, and have completely unique personalities!

One of them may sit next to you and finish her homework five days ahead of schedule – and the other one, not want to even start her science project until the night before it is due. One maybe fascinated by pets – another, allergic to everything; one can’t wait to get on my boat and sail away for days – while the other one holds on to my t-shirt – the entire journey!

Daiyaan and Shania 5 years ago!

When my first born came to this world, I had no way to prepare myself. There were lots of What to Expect in Baby’s First Year type of books but very little practical advice about your baby’s temperament or why she wouldn’t sleep the first night she arrived home!

I had no clue how to put this baby to sleep; after a few hours of trying to sing, generating hair-dryer or vacuum cleaner sounds (these are days before the noisemaker app on your IPod) and trying multiple motions, failing to soothe the baby, finally I placed her ear on my chest and allowed her to connect with my heart beat and warmth; she was out like a light bulb! I lay there, in that same position, for hours, afraid that any movement on my part would wake my baby up.

I remember my mother always bemoaning to her friends, “Baccha Manush Kora Khub Kothin” (It’s so very tough to raise kids); I wonder why my mom would say that it’s tough to raise children during her times. In our luxurious childhood at Joypahar, we had a nanny and also had a seven other help in the house; I don’t remember my parents ever needing to coordinate a babysitter; uncles and aunts visited us frequently and we had a wonderful support system protecting us. In those pre micro-chip days, we were not exposed to the demands of video-games, Twitter, Instragram or FaceBook. I don’t remember my Dad ever have to wonder if the length of his teen-agers’s skirt is appropriate for a birthday party!

Being blessed with two beautiful daughters, I sometimes wonder, what life would be like with more children. I watch parents, and their delight, when their older children return home for the holidays. They make their children’s favorite dishes and look forward to doing those common things that they may have done together, like a round of golf – or going to the spa – or baking together, or in the case of my mother, playing Scrabble or just arguing over political views!

If I regret about my personal circumstances, it’s that we didn’t have another child, in-between my two princesses. While I am grateful for what has been gifted, It would have been fabulous to have another daughter (or son for that matter) !

It has been a pleasure watching my children grow-up and take on their own personalities. Recently, Shania, my seven-year old rolled off my grocery-list from memory!  I don’t need to write anything down any more.  When she goes for a school –entrance interview, I watch her eyes sparkling with inquisitive possibilities.

In my recent role as a single-dad, my beliefs have been re-affirmed that, children are the most important and enjoyable occurance in life – for the period that they live with us. I have learned more acutely how important is stability, re-assurance and a safe place for them, to come back to.

Shania is just as happy with a project she can complete with me – versus a super-expensive gift! Daiyaan, my seventeen-year old, just wants to share her daily experiences – without my judgment or commentary! She watches my eyebrow curve up and smiles and gets the message that that part of the information may just be just TMI (too much information)!

When I go out for the evening, I love it when my daughters approve my attire or tell me to change my shirt! I love the simple rituals we have developed; as I cook dinner, and the children are completing their homework – or when we quickly step out to the balcony to observe a spectacular sunset and wish the day goodbye.

At night, when we read stories in bed, or say a quick prayer before closing our eyes, all of it becomes real;

It is the true joy in the discovery, of what we love about our unique and amazing children – without the instruction manuals!

Thank you God, for not sending instruction manuals with the children!

Celebrating Life in Long Hand: January 25, 2013

The Gifts of 2012 Holiday cards on our wall!

This weekend, one of the last rituals of a festive holiday season was, taking down the wonderful holiday cards we have received this season. Altogether, there were 44 stories on our wall, telling us about newborns, weddings, cancer recoveries, pet tragedies and many other interesting anecdotes. Some cards were shining photographs of friends and family, smiling and posing in uncomfortable poses with unusual costumes – and there were those that displayed genuine smiles with wonderful gestures – maybe at a Thanksgiving dinner, a karate chop, or a day on the beach!

Receiving and sending holiday cards, has been a family tradition for my family, from when I was a little child. I remember my parents sending out UNICEF cards and handwriting those cards to friends in far-away lands. I have always been mesmerized by the act of generosity when we received amazingly colorful cards from four continents.

In recent times, friends often send one page essays of highlights from the previous year. I learn of new dog additions – or piano recitals, college graduations, unique bike rides and many other interesting and unique aspects of many families, in a quick snapshot. Once, I received a CD with pictures of a family’s annual highlights, embedded with their favorite musical tunes! Love the creativity!

Even in this age of electronic agility, I am always amazed by how much, this small gesture of sending of a holiday greeting card, still moves me. It makes me sit and think about the year. The year of links connected, or disconnected; of relationships built – or ended. It makes me grateful for the amazing gift of friendships that I celebrate in my life.

This year, after holiday cards arrived, I actually re-connected with two colleagues from different past work lives, with a quick phone call. It is always great to hear their voices and learn about where they live now or what new adventure they are embarking on.

Recently, I saw an electronic posting where someone wrote, one’s age maybe celebrated by the number of friends we have – not the years we live! By the list of friends and family, that we either sent cards to – or received cards from – I feel incredibly blessed!

At work, I always urge my up-and-coming leaders to write hand-written thank-you notes to customers and colleagues – for some generosity that they have experienced that particular week.

Every Friday, make it a practice, to take thirty minutes of your working day to sit back and reflect on your past week – think of all the gifts you have received – close your eyes and thank that person and write them a note – nothing major, just a plain, simple ‘thank you’.

Having written many such cards myself, I have often seen thank you cards, my thank-you cards posted on people’s bulletin boards. The power of a simple “thank you” is immeasurable. People do care, when they receive a hand-written thank you note.

In this world of electronic gimmickry, people send electronic thank-you cards on the guise of being eco-conscious or just simple, efficient. Nothing wrong with that; however, let me say, there is something cathartic of writing a small note and closing that small envelope and maybe putting a stamp on it. It’s just a bit of a sacrifice – of time and of emotion – that goes a long way to express gratitude – holiday season or not.

This season, the Mahmood family holiday card has pictures of my beautiful princesses – well poised for a Cinderella Ball – embracing and smiling – as one often does for cameras. Everything that one goes through in a year, the anguish, the loss, the pain - cannot be summarized in a small card. It also does not suit the occasion.  We don’t have a long essay to share. Our comments are borrowed from a dear friend’s gift: “To Believe, is to Know that Every Day is a New Beginning”. Shania and I personally label the envelopes and seal/stamp them, almost as a family ritual, the day after Thanksgiving.

In 2013, we wish all our friends with new beginnings – wherever they are. We wish everyone well – good health and happiness. In November of 2013, when it’s time again, I hope to keep up is this “old-fashioned” ritual of writing a small note to all my friends, telling them of achievements and setbacks that make our journey complex – yet a meaningful curve in our meandering river of life.

The Celebration of Half-Birthdays!

Every morning we wake up, with the renewed possibility of doing, learning, singing and loving more, than yesterday. During our individual journeys, we take little steps, that deserve kudos – or big milestones, that deserves a big slap on the back!

However old we become, however high we rise, we still like to believe in the celebrations of life and its eternal mysteries.

Celebration of birthdays has always been a big deal in my family – much more so than any particular religious rites or rituals; I remember my childhood birthday parties; elaborate with balloons and delicious cakes, hide-and-go-seek games and pinning-the-tail on the donkey. My favorite birthday present was, when my uncles or aunts came to visit us, in our far-away hill-top residences of Chittgaong.

Since my first-born’s first year, we agreed that birthdays take way too long to return, and we wanted to celebrate her life, more often. Hence, we created  “half-birthdays” and started celebrating! They have never been an elaborate affair. Sometimes it’s a just a small cake or a nice dinner wherever the birthday girl desires. Sometimes we had friends or family to celebrate with us. Last year, for my seven-year old’s half birthday, we built a cardboard castle that she and her friends had the best time decorating – while their parents and I had the opportunity to sip some good wine and make an evening of it.

Shania and her friends built a cardboard house for her half birthday 2011

This year, I told Daiyaan, that since she turns 18 next year, this is her last “half-birthday” as a before she turns an “adult”. I make a reservation at a decent Asian fusion restaurant in Las Olas and invite a couple of her best friends to join us.

About half-way through the day of the actual intended celebration, I get a text from her that she really doesn’t want to go out tonight and doesn’t want me to spend the money on a fancy dinner; I respond with a sad face symbol) . I remember her first half-birthday at Merrimac lane – with her Godparents (Abdul and Fazilah) and a cake!

As the day progresses, we keep chatting, and I realize that something has changed her mind and I guess our dinner is back on schedule.

We enjoy a wonderful dinner, filled with Sashimi, Sushi, Asian style tapas and green-tea ice-cream, On the way back home I ask Daiyaan, what made her change her mind, to help us celebrate this occassion.

That afternoon, she got a text from one of her closest friends, that the doctors have told their family that this is most likely their Dad’s last holiday season with them.

Hearing that, my daughter, on her own, realizes how important celebrations are and that, just because we can celebrate together now, is no longer a “given”, every year.

Daiyaan and I at her half birthday celebrations 2012

One cannot force a celebration on anyone. But it is important to recognize every day, that it can be a new beginning – a new life.

The fact that we have lived another “half-year” – I believe, is worthy of celebration. It doesn’t have to be a “super-duper” expensive party – with gifts and champagne. It can be a simple dinner, where we sit back and acknowledge the true gifts of our lives and simply look forward to enjoying every day and every night of the future.

Life, is too short to miss ‘Half Birthdays’!

Daiyaan’s Half Birthday 2012

A “Bucket List” Concert at Red Rocks With One of My Favorite People in the World!

Going to a concert at Red Rocks is awesome; going to a Jason Mraz concert at Red Rocks is super – awesome! Going to a Jason Mraz Concert at Red Rocks with your seventeen year-old, who introduced you to Mraz’s music, is one of those super –awesome, bucket list moments!

It is a mild Monday evening, when Daiyaan and I walk towards the amazing Red Rocks Amphitheater.  This is our fourth concert together; but the first one away from home.

Daiyaan and Zain @ Red Rocks!

Six weeks ago, when Daiyaan told me Jason Mraz was playing at Red Rocks, I wanted to experience this amazing venue and event with her. Three years ago, my then fourteen-year old and I started sharing each other’s music as a way of connecting. One of the first songs I was introduced to was Lucky ; that Spring, I wrote my first blog 15 minutes of Freedom mentioning how I decided to buy my first convertible driving in the open, with Lucky was playing on the radio.

When I hear Jason sing Lucky at the concert, I have tears in my eyes – thinking about all that has happened in my life over these four years.  As if, through music, Daiyaan and I have traveled in some parallel universe that is somehow protected from everything else that happened in our real world.

The air gets chilly as the sun sets and the surrounding red rocks glow in the dark; a half-moon appears far away. We put our jackets on. Talking to your “almost-adult” child about the conspicuous smell of pot in the air, is always intriguing.  There is a certain air of festivity around us. The attractive blonde next to me offers me her drink!

Red Rocks: waiting for the concert to begin!

Christina Perri opens the evening with her amazing voice; when she sings, Jar of Hearts, I am overwhelmed;  the lyrics resonate with the circumstances of a particularly difficult time.  She also sings A Thousand Years and one of my favorites Arms;  It is the perfect beginning to a beautiful evening.

When Mraz walks in, to perform his hip-pop-nuevo jazzy-folksy songs, all  9000+ people stand up and enjoy the bright music and dance along. With every song, I feel, there is a story, a connection to some part of my life. There are more than 25 songs and each one gets better, acoustically, and through vibrant melody.

When I hear  the lyrics of “93 Million Miles”, it reminds me of my journey away from home:

“Oh my beautiful mother
She told me, son, in life you’re gonna go far
If you do it right, you’ll love where you are
Just know, wherever you go
You can always come home”

I dance when Mraz sings Bob Marley’s, “Don’t Worry, About a Thing “. He tells us to look at the person we came to the concert and tell them that “You are Loved” – sharing that moment with Daiyaan is priceless. When Daiyaan leans and puts her head on my shoulder, I know the joys of fatherhood.

At this moment – with rocks from maybe a million year ago surrounding me – I  think, what an amazing stage God built, for music lovers. I feel fortunate, to be here, to enjoy this, with one my favorite people in the world!

This morning, walking through the Denver Airport, Daiyaan reminisces about yesterday and thanks me for bringing her to this experience. Normally, she is happy to return home after a vacation. Today, she wishes that we had one more day in Denver. She also adds that after watching Jason Mraz live, no other music sounds real!

I know we will be back in Red Rocks. Maybe it’s not a bucket list thing; maybe it’s just a new family ritual; where we travel across the country to be where God intended music to be – and someone as beautiful and talented as Jason Mraz or Christina Perri sets the stage on fire.

Mraz finishes the concert with his amazing I Won’t Give Up; on this great night, in this great location, listening to this great song, I can only think of Daiyaan and Shania.

When I look into your eyes
It’s like watching the night sky
Or a beautiful sunrise
There’s so much they hold
And just like them old stars
I see that you’ve come so far
To be right where you are
How old is your soul?

I won’t give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I’m giving you all my love
I’m still looking up

US Elections 2012: The Choice

Shania and I stand out in a line for two hours to see Michelle Obama; it’s yet another hot and sultry day in Florida.  One of the volunteers helps me change my address with a new voter registration ID; button and t-shirt sellers abound. We buy a “Michelle Rocks” button! Every few minutes, a volunteer reminds us of the “airport style” security to get into the auditorium. Bottled water in hand, we wiggle along a snake queue, experiencing this magic of our first- ever, grassroots political rally.

Shania and I wait in Line for the Michelle Obama Rally

I want my seven-year-old to experience this political process; be aware of her rights and exercise these rights diligently. I want her to be involved in civil society. As a child, growing up in a non-secular, non-democratic society – I never enjoyed such a privilege. As a parent I try to enhance their curiosity and respect of the political process.

Someone texts me, “Do you even like the Obamas?”  I am not sure how to answer that question.  I don’t think it’s any longer a choice of whether I like them or not.

I am a registered “independent” voter. The label that I identify the most with, is what the Pew Center names, the New Prosperity Independants – The Purple Voter! According to some polls 11% of the US voters are in this category. We don’t align with the traditional views of conservatives or liberals. Typically, we like economic conservatism with social liberties held intact.  However, Liberals (12% ) or Conservatives (10%) tend to dominate the agenda.  Because, they tend to scream their opinions the loudest.

This 2012 election season, I am left without a choice.

I don’t like the heavy handed economic policies of the Democratic party – this process of economic interference and engineering makes me cringe. All this, “I know how to solve all your economic challenges”, or, “I will take care of you, even if you choose never to work” upsets me.

However, I cringe even harder, when I hear the shrill rhetoric of the right-wing fundamentalists of the Republican party. They are against the woman’s right to chose – they don’t want to find a way to solve the immigration debacle – they don’t want to talk about banning assault weapons – they want to cut educational programs and make a big deal opposing gay marriage!  I wonder when Jeb Bush or Colin Powell will get a say in anything.

I have two daughters; I cannot let their freedoms be overtaken by a group of xenophobic bigots. My vote is no longer for my own future; it’s for my daughters’ future. I look at the party that is most likely to protect their rights – promote compensation parity – promote more of a “salad bowl” policy. I yearn for a structure that is informed, empathetic; an idiotic senatorial candidate who believes that women can shut down their body during rape – seriously!?

While economic freedom is vitally important, I have always believed that what makes the US the freest of nation – the most creative, entrepreneurial and liberal in thinking – are its social freedoms.  Stodgy Europhiles may find the US thinking very laissez faire or simply not sophisticated enough – but this freedom to choose – to create – to lead – to pray (or not) – to change, is what’s most attractive of the American fabric.

I want that fabric of our flag, protected forever – for my daughters.

Watching the First Lady Speak at a Rally in Fort Lauderdale

We take our stand in the theatre waiting for the First Lady to arrive. There’s lots of political rhetoric in the air – lot’s of heavy talk about this or that.  Someone hands Shania a political placard; she takes one and asks for a second one for her teacher. We listen to Mrs. Obama, as if she is a rock star. Shania doesn’t understand much of what she is saying; but I notice, she is smiling and listening. I proudly look at Shania as she holds up her placard.

Today, she may not understand the substance of the conversation underway. But she has found a new way to express herself – connect herself – with the greatest democracy in the world.

Next, I want to take her to a Republican rally.  Just like anything else, the most important thing for Shania is to learn that, she has a choice.

Daiyaan and I on the day I received my citizenship (Photo taken by Wasima Wali)

A Father’s Moment: A Daughter’s Letter on Father’s Day: June 2011

Father's Day with my three beautiful daughters!

It’s already been an amazing day. I woke up to hugs and kisses; a great brunch with amazing Eggs Benedict and my favorite roast beef, followed by a boat ride, swimming in the pool and now dinner at a famous burger joint! All with my most favorite people in the world. What an experience!

The best gift is the personal letter that my sixteen-year old gave me this morning:

“Dear Daddy,

This past year has been incredibly tough, but we are getting through it all. I always knew I was Daddy’s “little girl”, but in the recent events, we have gotten much closer.

I can honestly say that if I did not have a Dad as caring and loving as you are, one that understands and only wants the best for me, I don’t know if I would have been able to get through the past 9 months.

Our retail therapy shopping is the best; our father/daughter movie/dinner dates are always fun. I love spending time with you and most of all, that we get along. Most fathers and daughters would never be able to even understand how close we are; they could never imagine having our kind of a relationship. I can’t name one friend who puts their best friend on the speaker in front of their Dad while they are fighting!

I love that you are so easy to talk to and you always understand where I am coming from. I love you Daddy, your are MY BEST FRIEND.

Happy Father’s Day

Daiyaan”

I used to always believe that Father’s/Mother’s Day are Hallmark created events that are designed for increased merchandising. I know in my heart, that partially that’s true. Every day is Mother’s or Father’s day in my universe. However, on this Sunday afternoon, I look outside at the Paradise we live in, and count the blessings in our lives.

I still cherish the gift of these beautiful children, in my life. Thank you God, for giving me the privilege to be a father and enjoying this amazing day!