“I read so much about Afghanistan. It’s a shame what is happening over there.”
My father and I were at the register when the woman at the regiter began speaking about the books she reads, where she checks them out, and the episodes of National Geographic she watches. We looked foreign to her. We looked like people from over there.
“Yeah, well, war does that,” my father began. “Just like what is happening in Iraq and Syria.” I wondered if my father was thinking of the Syria and Iraq my grandfather – his father – would tell us about. I was thinking about how his eyes would almost begin to sparkle when he’d say, “Baghdad kanat Baghdad.” Baghdad was Baghdad.
“Yes, yes. It’s a shame. I believe everyone deserves equality. No one should live like that in Afghanistan.”
“We’re actually from Palestine, anyways,” my father responded.
Hmph. The number of times I heard that hmph.
“It’s a shame for the people of Afghanistan. I’m going to keep reading about it,” she said as she printed out the receipt.
“Yeah, you keep reading,” my father told her.
“And praying. Reading does no good. Praying does it,” she replied.
“Then, pray for equality.”
Later that day, my father asked me, “How many books do you think they need to read before they finally get it?”