As I was sitting in the park with my dad on 34th street, a young guy probably in his mid-twenties is sitting on the bench across from us with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, and he seems to be waiting for "her"... I leave my dad for a bit to get some coffee and when I come back the guy is still sitting there, looking more hopeless and disappointed...
Me: Tala3 dad... shekelo 7al2etlo.
Dad: I know... tab 7ada 7akalo 2y7eb!
Me: 3injad taess 2eli b7eb
Dad: Zay ma by2olo "ma boktol 2ela el 7ob!"... Shayefa habibti ma 3omerk 2et 7bi 7ada aktar men ma howa b7ebek... always let them come to you... if you let them come to you they will never leave you... they will always want more.
I am then silent. Not sure how to respond to his comment or if I even should. I am not accustomed to having these kinds of conversations with my father. However, I felt tempted to share that part of my life with him... I thought about the times I was in love wanted to share that with him... and the times that I was disappointed with love and wanted him to comfort me... Even though I was never able to directly speak to my father about these topics, he always knew when I was in love... and when I was let down by love... and he would always try to comfort me the best way he knew how... whether it was making me tea with na3na3 or making me vigorously clean the house to distract myself.
We then continue to talk...
Dad: Ya3ni wen I was young, ya I was in love... but zay ma by2olo I never lost any sleep over anyone.
Me: Haha... Why not?
Dad: I don't know... I was just never like that... 2ly ma byel7a2ni ana ma bal7a2o... bs el banat kano daymen la72ni...
Me: haha... wallah neyalak dad
Dad: Well, I was always charming to them bs ma konet desperate w al7a2.
Me: yeah, I can see how women could find you irresistible (sarcastically).
Dad: So you want to head home? Or do you want to wait and see what will happen with this guy (the flower guy)?
Me: Ummm, why don't we stay for a little longer... I'm curious to see what is going to happen.
Dad: He is so stupid... a7salo 2yby3li el flowers
Twenty minutes later....
Dad: Yallah habibti, sheklha mish ra7 tozbot el sha'3la ma3o, lets go home
Me: Yah... I actually feel bad for him....
Dad: Tab lesh ma tro7i to23di ma30 (sarcastically)
Me: I don't feel that bad for him
As we make our way home, we pass by the flower guy and my father then asks him if the flowers are for sale... the flower guy says "No, they're not"... my dad then smiles and says as he continue to walk, "Well, you know you are better off selling them".
Me: What?... The only guy I keep talking about is Amin, and I'm usually bitching about what an asshole he is.
Dad: (confused)... la 3injad. Meen howa?
Me: Wallah dad it's Amin... bs eza fi hada tani... don't worry he isn't worth discussing... he is also an asshole.
Dad: 2ah! Heck Bedi 2yaki!
Me: Bs lesh ya3ni, inta sho sm3et? (hinting that I know he was eavesdropping).
Dad: (nervously) La wala eshy... ana bs heck.... curious...
Dad: I feel lucky... ma 7asat fi eshy bel denya tmanato bel 7aya w ma t7kak... Ya3ni I wanted a Taxi company and I had it... I wanted a grocery story and I had it... I traveled the world and drove the fanciest cars... I had a good life.
Dad: My only regret is that I didn't spend enough time with you guys growing up... I guess you always think there will be more time... but it all happens so fast.
Me: Dad, what's your favorite memory with us growing up?
Dad: Ummm.... Wallhi I think this is my favorite memory. Being with you guys right now in New York.
Dad: I think I should stop taking my pills (morphine pills for the pain).
Me: What?... What do you mean?
Dad: Ya3ni maybe I don't need them anymore.
Me: Dad, this is for the cancer...
Dad: Yeah, but they say that it's not good for your liver.
Me: Thinking... (who gives a fuck about your liver right now... you have an enormous tumor growing inside of you... pressing on all your other vital organs! That is what you should be worried about!)... Well, dad I don't know about that... but without them you would be in a lot of pain.
Dad: You think so?... ya3ni the other day 2et2a5arat la a5adet el dawa w ma 7asat bel waja3.
Me: I wouldn't stop taking the pills without talking to your doctor first. You are meeting with him next week, you can ask him these questions.
Dad: Yeah... I think you are right.
Dad: I think you should go back to the blad for a couple of years. It will clear your head. Inti kteer confused. At least fi bladna 2el akel 2ylo ta3em!
Dad: Fi zlaem such a bastard... eza mish mo3damhom (laughs).
Me: Tell me about it... I don't trust them as far as I can throw them!
Dad: I can't believe they are doing this and then kal they call me as if they didn't do anything... Keef lama amoot??
Me: It's like you used to always say dad "Bktolo el kateel w byemsho bjanazto"
Dad: (laughs)... Wallah that is true.
Dad: Doctors are stupid. All they care about is money... Sarat 7ayat el wa7ad tyjara... 2amen sh'3la hay
Dad: Keef ya3ni it doesn't have a cure? Kol hal 3elm w ma 3indom cure? Lessa a7san law ma b7ko lalel wa7ad
Me: This really sucks dad.
Dad: I know habibti bs heck el denya... I lost my mother and father too.
Me: This isn't about death and dying... we are all going to die... But I want you in my life I want you there...
Dad: I know...
Dad: Wallahi you are my favorite....
Me: Is that what you tell the others too??
Dad: (laughs-- my dad usually laughs when he is lying) walek wallah... hay bossa sho bedek akatar men heck??
Me: Whatever... all I know is that I REALLY should be your favorite!