To my own personal superman

A few weeks ago, when I had finally climbed into bed after a long night of homework, I heard a noise downstairs and started to tense up.  But then I remembered--like I always have for the past twelve years--that my dad was right down the hall.  So I turned on my side and went to sleep. 

I am only just beginning to realize that I am one of the few girls who still sees her dad as the strongest guy in the whole world.  For the longest time, I thought that was every little girl.  But the older I got, the more I saw that most girls didn't see their dad as superman the way I did and still do.  It wasn't just in the sense of brute strength (anyone who has seen my dad knows he's not exactly 6'10 or 300 pounds), but my dad has always been an unconquearble tower in my eyes because of his character, because of the way he walked the walk in a manner that I could only hope to mimic one day.  You see, although I myself am not a man (I know my muscles may make it seem otherwise), my dad taught me what it meant to be one.  A man isn't someone with giant muscles and a macho, overly confident attitude.  A man is someone who will take in a daughter that isn't his own and love her better than if she was.  A man is someone that isn't afraid to stand up for what is right, regardless of the consequences.  A man is someone that isn't afraid to show that he has a heart, emotions, and can be caring and kind.  A man is someone that loves God.  My father is the best testament to manhood that I have ever come across. 

My dad is silent and strong.  I can honestly say that I don't think I've ever heard him complain once.  There are so many times when I have made him late for work because I am slower than a turtle in the morning (but somehow I can still be awake enough to talk his ear off on the short five minute drive to work) and never once has he lost his temper at me for it.  And I'll be the first to admit, I am a difficult daughter.  I am stubborn, scatterbrained, messy, opinionated, and at times, completely irrational.  But my father's patience astounds me.  He listens to my petty dilemmas and treats them as seriously as he would a client whose life was falling apart.  Sometimes I will have said something and look over at my dad who is completely silent, and I think he's tuning me out, only to have him give his take on the situation five minutes later.  That's my dad.  He's patient, cautious, and thorough.

I remember one day in the middle of my junior year, I was hysterical because my grades weren't where I wanted them to be and it seemed that no matter how hard I tried, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to do it.  And my dad looked over at me and said "Samar, you're doing it.  You're doing it right now."  And he probably didn't realize it, but it meant the world to me to know that he was my biggest supporter, that he would be cheering for me no matter what the event was.  My whole life he's protected me wholeheartedly and determinedly, and he's managed to somehow let me stumble and learn my own lessons all while he was still guiding me.  Sometimes I'll say something, or relate my opinion on something and he'll press his lips together and stay silent.  And in his unspoken language, I know that means that I wasn't being benevolent or open-minded enough in my perspective or actions.  My father has never once told me what to believe or who to be, but I've picked up invaluable lessons on character from just watching him be him.  There are no attempts to teach or "be a role model" in the way my father has lived his life.  It's always been just him simply trying to be the best he can be, and that is probably what inspires me the most every single day.

In all of the thousands of yellings and groundings from my mom, it was the calm patience of my dad's that made me feel the guiltiest.  My dad has yelled at me probably like five times in my entire life, but everyday he teaches me something new in his own silent language.  It's his unspoken acts of love like pulling into Jewel to let me buy BBQ chips after I tell him I've had the worst week ever, or tolerating my out of tune, offbeat singing along to the radio every time we are in the car together.  It's the way he comes home after a long day of work and still manages to be energetic and wrestle and talk football with my brother and listen to my mom talk about her day or help her around the house.  If my family is a bed of flowers, my father is the soil that holds us all rooted together.  And I hope that one day I will be lucky enough to find someone just like him (minus the ever growing belly and love for fishing and lame jokes preferably). 

So to the man who is my best friend, my number one fan, my inspiration, and my hero, happy father's day.  I love you.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that fatherhood isn't just changing diapers and walking your daughter down the aisle.  It's all the moments in between.  And as obvious as it seems, that means that when you're really tired and all you want to do is watch the game on T.V., you sit down and talk to your daughter instead.  Or when you're in a really bad mood and the last thing you want to do is give your daughter a ride somewhere, do it anyways and do it with patience and love and understanding.  As John Mayer says: "Fathers be good to your daughters, for daughters will love like you do."

~Samar 

A Positive Slope

Two years ago, on the way home from school I asked my dad what he thought the best years of your life were.  "Like, would you say that college was the best time of your life?", I asked.  "Well," he said, "The average American sees life like this," and he held his hand in the shape of an upside down parabola.  He pointed to the peak and said "right here is your college years and mid twenties.  After that, in the Western perspective, it's all downhill."  "But in Islam," he said, "we see our lives like this" and he slanted his hand indefinitely towards the sky, "in our eyes, every day, every stage is better than the last." 

That conversation came crashing back to me after a discussion with my biology teacher a few weeks ago.  I had asked him if he thought I should go to a six year medical program or not, and he responded to me "well, I mean you're going to not have any vacation time, be extremely stressed out, and squander away the best years of you life.  I wouldn't recommend it."  At the time, I completely agreed with him and started to really wonder what exactly it was that I wanted out of my young adult life.  And then I realized that my life, was going to be different than the average American.  For me, my prime years were not going to be spent "living it up" because for me, my entire life would be moment by moment "living it up".  For me, every moment would be a moment to seize, to make the most of, and to enact change.  There wasn't going to be some cap or some limit to my being able to enjoy life.  In my mom's words, we'd be "partying it up until we died".  Not in the literal sense of the word, but more so that we would be traveling, living, experiencing, laughing, and worshipping all the way until we were six feet under.  That's because the Western fear of old age and esteem for youth has no place in Islam; the older I get, the cooler I'll be-minus the gray hair, of course. 

The part about Islam that most people can't really get a grip on (even me most days) is that it's a faith of extreme moderation.  For the average American, moderation doesn't mean much more than being careful about one's brownie intake at a party.  But for us as American Muslims, moderation means that we curb the desire to always be instantaneously gratified.  That we don't stop for that Mcflurry the moment we crave it, that we don't buy that new iPad the moment we hear about its supposedly amazing screen capabilities.  Abstinence makes the soul stronger, and more capable of handling the temptations that life throws its way.  Sometimes I see pictures of my friends having the time of their lives at parties, bonfires, and the beach, living their lives seemingly so carefree like it's a beer commercial.  And I wish I was them because it looks like it's something so wonderfully unique to being young.  But what I (and I'm sure others too) often fail to remember is that a picture only captures one moment.  Not the day afterwards when they are humiliated and embarrassed at what they drunkenly did, nor the years later when the depression and feelings of not reaching self-actualization hit.  After living life in such an extreme fashion, lots of adults start families and wonder why they are so incredibly discontented with their lives.  It's because after killing their inner conscience with actions that went against their natural, God-given tempering, they've had to turn to materialistic forms of creating happiness.  But happiness derived from the materialistic things in life only lasts for a short amount of time, so you see people ten, twenty years into a marriage or career, feeling unsatisfied, unhappy, and looking for anything at all to save them from themselves.

True moderation means so much more than watching what you eat and working out enough.  It means that instead of having moments of extreme joy and extreme sadness, you even it out to be a steady amount of normalcy.  Which in turn, if done correctly, can feel just like a lifetime of euphoria.  Moderation means paying attention to every aspect of yourself and developing yourself holistically.  That way, you can enjoy every singly moment that life throws your way.  And the older and wiser you get, the better you become at that balancing act, making life that much better.  As my dad always tells me, life is all just how you look at it.

So whenever my friends go on the standard rant of "well, I mean, like if you don't go crazy and have fun now and like in college, you're going to be missing out on like an entire experience! Like dude, you've never been kissed? Are you seriously going to just like get married without that experience? What about prom, and like homecoming, and like dude, your parents expect you to go party and have a little fun. You're going to be a runaway housewife that goes crazy because you've followed the rules your whole life, Samar", I always feel a little pang of sympathy for the way they see life.  And I wish so hard that I could put what I've learned in their minds too, but I know that I'm fighting a battle against a lifetime's exposure to media and stores like Victoria's Secret that advocate the exact opposite, and know I don't have a fighting chance at ever winning. 

So for all you parents out there, emphasize internal beauty to your daughters rather than external, because it's the internal beauty that lasts forever.  And teach your sons that the hot girls, nice cars, and money will fade and leave them feeling empty, but that sound character will get them to the moon and back.  Teach your children not to live their lives off of a check list, but to enjoy every single moment of their lives, and to laugh even when things aren't going their way.  After all, everything that is happening, is unfolding exactly the way it was meant to be. 
~Samar