I love hearing my Mom and/or Dad putting my brother to bed. Though he’s now 12 years old, they still read to him all the sentences of the sleeping prayers, and let him complete only the last two words like they initially did when they first started reciting them for him to memorize.
It is a lovely evening ritual I am blessed to hear.
Good Night, warm Beirut!
Tag: Mom
I love my Mom. She’s the type of person…
I love my Mom. She’s the type of person who wonders about everyone she sees on the street. Not that I don’t, but I tend to wonder in my own head and make up stories with beginnings, middles, and ends. She asks me aloud,
“Why is that man holding a stone like that?”
“Why would I know? Maybe he wants to kill someone.”
Mom is worried,
“No, but I mean WHY is he carrying a stone in the middle of Hamra?”
I get annoyed quickly,
“Mom, it is none of our business, it’s a free country!”
We walk.
After a few moments we see a group of people posing for a photo at the entrance of a building.
Mom: “Why are these people there? Did something happen? La Hawla wala Qowata illa BiLLah.”
Niam: “Which people? There’s nothing abnormal here!”
“There! Near the Hearing Aid sign!”
“Oopps. Thats my friend Ahmad. They must be artists or filmmakers. They’re taking a group photo. Nothing happened!”
“I wonder why are they taking it near the hearing aid sign. Maybe they are filming an ad.”
“Its a group photo ya Ummi. They have nothing to do with hearing aid. Maybe they were having a workshop.”
In my head now I am wondering what the hell is Ahmad doing here with people who seem too “fashion civilized” to be artists and/or filmmakers.
The point is, you can’t walk with my Mom around Beirut and not have fun. You will have fun. But you have to be up to it!
returnee2beirut 