Lately I've been wearing a necklace that my aunt Fatima gave me, that
she bought for me when she went to Mecca. It's a symbol of a Quo'ran,
with writing in Arabic on it that I cannot read. I can't help but contrast
it with the the Christian cross that people who come into my store often
wear, or buy. Unlike the cross, the symbol of Islam that I wear around
my neck is a celebration of written language.
This summer a friend showed me a video of some Arab immigrants and
their American children, and I was struck by one man who looked to be
of my father's generation. This man loved poetry -- he memorized poems
and recited them for people in his life, including the grocer who sold
him an orange ---and his son was a poet. One of the most moving parts
of the video for me was watching the son read a poem about his father
to his father, then listening to his father recite a poem from memory.
Well, my father also transmitted his love for his language to me. One
of my most intense regrets is that I did not show him more of my writing
before he died.
My dad didn't recite poetry. I didn't see him reading much fiction
-- I always assumed because English never became as comfortable a language
as Arabic was. His stories about the paradise that he left behind in
Syria always involved books, though -- today my dream-image of Huffa
Syria includes reading novels while lounging under vines bearing grapes
the size of my fists. I remember that some time in elementary school
he bought us the set of Great Books from the University of Chicago --
and tonight I wonder how much that early purchase had to do with my
eventual decision to attend that school -- and how excited he was unpacking
the boxes, exclaiming over the books, finding a place of honor for them.
A few weeks ago I watched a friend, a brilliant butch dyke, unpack
a set of Harvard Great Books. I sat next to her on the floor and watched
her pleasure in the texture of the pages, the satisfying weight of words,
and was reminded of my dad's pleaure from years ago. For just a minute
my worlds came together.