I cant believe that tomorrow, November 24, is the 20th birthday of our first child. The following is a column written by her father Ali, who was at the time a columnist at the Sentinel and Enterprise. She was only five weeks old when it was published on January 1, 1995. So tiny; already ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’ Exactly at 10 Thanksgiving night, my lovely wife gave birth to our first baby. We named her Zahrah, the Arabic word for flower. We gave her this name because it is the name of one of her aunts who, in spite her loneliness and modest means, is the ultimate sweetheart. No doubt, our little new friend is the fairest among babies. Look, I know that in the eyes of his parents, a little ape is an angel. Everyone thinks that their baby is the best baby, but everyone is wrong. This baby, I tell you, is the most beautiful baby. Take my word for it, or else if you want an objective opinion, go ask her grandmother. That is my mother-in-law, who will never forgive herself for saying that the little angel is beautiful and looks just like her father. Spellbound by the magic of the rebirth of her genes, she managed to forget that Im her son-in-law and could in no way be called beautiful. Soon however, the spell of the good news gave room to good judgement. Now my mother-in-law sees her daughter all over the babys sweet face and fingers. The faces and fingers of babies are indeed sweet. They are God’s way of saying that all is not bad with the world. Still, babies are renditions of the divine promise that the meek shall inherit the earth. They just take over and their conquest is most welcome. With redeeming innocence we are very happy to accommodate these little inconsiderate intruders. So these days, I leave my books behind for hours and hold my baby in my arms. I talk to her and look into the beautiful windows to her soul, her aquamarine eyes and little winsome smile, and all is well with me. She cries, and I sing to her. In the playful and sanguine old Libyan melodies, I sing to her the charming little poem, “On a Favourite Cat Drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes,” written by the 18th-century English poet, Thomas Gray. Here is how the poem ends: From hence, ye Beauties! undeceiv’d Know one false step is ne’er retriev’d And be with caution bold: Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts is lawful prize Nor all that glisters gold! “Nice little poem,” my wife said the other day, “but dont you think it is too soon for advice? The poor little thing is not even four weeks old yet.” “It is never too soon,” I said, “the boys, the dreadful boys make me anxious I don’t want them to ever come near my baby. I tell you what, lets become Catholics and raise our new little friend to become a nun. My wife was not amused, she has already made the plans for her daughters wedding. So much for the poor little thing being less than four weeks old. My wife however likes the following three verses from a classical Arabic poem, which are the baby’s favorite . They are about the three conditions of love: “The first compelleth thee to kiss the hand thou lovest: This is a moment’s love. The next is more enduring which kisseth thee on the cheek. But there is yet the latest, love which shall kiss they forehead. This is a love forever. Mine is of all the three.” Sometimes my singing helps my little daughter fall asleep. My fatherly voice, I like to think, reassures her that the world is a warm and cozy place. But it is also possible, however, that her little mind decides that it is better to go to sleep than to listen to me. But then I am not the only number on the radio dial. Together, we listen to the Quran, recited by the clear and beautiful voice of one prominent reader. We both like classical music, Mozart in particular, and Paul Simons “Graceland” is one of our favorite CDs. Like all parents, I want my baby to be many good things. Most of all, however, I want her to remember that heaven is underneath mothers’ feet and to be good to her mama. I want my baby to be good to her mama.
Posted on: Mon, 24 Nov 2014 02:58:53 +0000
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