My Father

The saying that fathers are daughters' first love and hero is definitely so true! I loved my father as a young child. I absolutely adored him. Each time he was gone for a business trip, I felt so heartbroken and missed him so much. He was the most handsome, the smartest, the most talented person with the most amazing singing voice. Yes, I have used past tense describing him, but that is not because he passed away. He is alive and well, and I still love him, but so much has changed since I was little; my father has changed...

My father was born into a poor family. My grandfather, who lost one of his legs to gangrene, had a difficult time finding a job to support his family. Now, we are talking about the 1940s in another continent where there were no disability rights and, unfortunately, rights and accommodations for people with disabilities in my home are still nonexistent. My grandfather was known as " the cripple," and my father was" the son of the cripple." My grandfather, let's call him Aslan, had to "beg" to be able to bring the bread home. I have such fond memories of Aslan...He was such a kind man and a fun grandfather. I remember my father, Ahmet, telling me how ashamed he was to be called the son of the cripple. Therefore, my father began working when he was about seven. He would wake up at three in the morning, go to the bakery, buy sesame bagels, and sell them on the streets. Ahmet was the second child of four and the oldest male in the family, so it was his responsibility to take care of his siblings and parents. It was not unusual to see Ahmet wearing hand-me-down clothes with holes and talking shoes where his little toes would slide out of the holes of his shoes, making it look like they were talking when he walked. They were so poor that they would have to ration the food during their meals at home: four olives and a slice of bread for each person. They seldom ate meat, mostly during the time of Eid, when the people gave away a piece of their sacrificed sheep to the poor as a charity.

My father had to work hard, so he had to quit schooling in 7th grade and began to work for a man - who would change our lives completely later on- at a fresh fruit and vegetable wholesale business. Ahmet would travel to the places in the country and buy the produce in tons for Zeki. He quickly earned Zeki's trust, and they became close friends. Oh, by the way, we moved to a bigger town while Ahmet worked for Zeki.

Zeki came to visit us for business from time to time, and I absolutely adored him. He would bring us chocolate and small trinkets, which would fill my little heart with happiness. During one of his visits, I was sick, refusing to take my medicine. I am not sure how exactly, but he convinced me to take my medicine, and from that day on, I thought he was a doctor. I mean, who else could he be..? He was so good at convincing kids to take their medicine so they could get better. Until 3rd grade, I thought he was a doctor, so I always called him "uncle doctor." I really did not know anything else about him; I mean, I was three or four years old, and I just loved him until the time he passed away and even after.

When I was five years old, my father told us that Zeki had been ill with throat cancer and he didn't have many days left in his earthly life. Zeki wanted to reveal his will before his death, so we had to travel to his city, which was 12 hours of drive away. I don't have any memories of the trip. However, I remember it like yesterday, my dad's parking his car in front of a huge building, in a very elite part of the city. I remember getting into the elevator for the very first time in my life, as I had no clue that something like that even existed. You get into a box, push a button, and the box takes you up and down! Gosh, how fun and exciting that elevator trip was! We rang the doorbell, and a young and pretty woman opened the door. Her name was Lemon, and she seemed nice, but I was scared and shy. I just remember that house seeming huge in my five-year-old blue eyes. I slowly walked inside the living room and saw Zeki lying down on a bed, connected to different kinds of contraptions, fully conscious. He had lost his voice, and his throat was open, which made me sadder than scared. His eyes sparkled when he saw me as I ran to his bedside with my blond curls bouncing around. I asked him why he did not take his medicine and became very ill...a complete slice in the room and drops of tears coming down on Zeki's cheeks. We embraced each other, and he passed away a few weeks later. However, Zeki revealed his will before his passing: He left all of his business and the care of his family - 4 kids and a widow- to my father. His brothers were very angry, but Zeki said that he only trusted my father. Unfortunately, his once thriving business was nearly bankrupted due to his treatments in England...And the course of our lives took a different path. We were now moving to this big city where my siblings and I would be raised.

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