Father, unforgettable pages
There are homes that raise their children to live, and homes that raise their children to understand meaning, and my father's home was the same meaning.
My father was the first love in the life of a girl who learned early on that manhood is not a loud voice, but a loud conscience.
He enrolled me in school when I was five years old, but he enrolled me in the hearts of the verses before the classroom seats; I memorized the thirtieth part thanks to his reviewing it with me every Friday, and thanks to his staying up every evening around a table that, with love, turned into a second school.
My mother and I used to sit and talk about the details of the day, and my father would correct any crooked behaviors we had, and instill in us values that would make life right.
If he was angry with someone, he would say: “This is a person without principles”... as if his principles were a homeland that he did not allow anyone to leave.
He would put a piece of food in each of our mouths, as if to say: This is how hearts are fed before stomachs.
On Fridays, lunch was a fatherly ritual; he would prepare it himself, review our memorization, or take us on a walk to create a new memory.
My mother used to scare me with her famous phrase: “When your father comes, I will tell him.”
I was trembling with fear of punishment, and I did not know that my father knew everything, but he was asking her not to reveal his knowledge so that we would learn from our consciences, not from our fear.
May God have mercy on him… He raised us to be human beings, not actors.
And the days went by…
I got married and lived with my mother-in-law for ten years, during which I never did anything wrong.
However, she once admitted to me that she was deliberately testing me, pressuring me to see “another side”.
But she did not find him… and that day I discovered that I am a woman of principles that do not change with pressure or injustice.
Then I had a disagreement with some friends over a matter of principles, and the disagreement intensified until I cried.
My husband sat next to me and said something that pierced me:
“The fault is not with you… the fault is that you are too well-mannered.”
Your morals, principles, and honor have become a disgrace these days.
Anyone who gets close to you and feels this... feels inadequate in your presence.”
Oh, the bitterness of the truth…
Has possessing morals become a deficiency?
Has adhering to one's principles become a crime?
Kindness has become naivety, honesty a mistake, and purity a social defect?
May God have mercy on you, my father…
May God have mercy on you, my mother…
You were raising me for another world, another time, another people.
I thought that what you planted in me was my salvation… but in this time it has become my punishment.
But despite that, I have no regrets.
I still believe that dignity does not perish, and that principles are not inherited for losses but for heaven.
And that one who has been raised in the light cannot be pushed into darkness.
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