Wednesday
May272009
A Clarification is Worth A Thousand Words... Or More
Wednesday, May 27, 2009 at 07:17PM
In the past few months I’ve written some posts in which my parents have been the subject.
I think I’m giving people the wrong impression.
See, a blog, to me, is a place where I can discuss things that don’t come up in the course of regular conversation.
Whether it’s political, social, or personal, I like to go with the flow of a conversation rather than direct the topics chosen. Most of the stuff I discuss here, I wouldn’t bring up in the course of a conversation.
My childhood or my parents don’t come up a lot in every day conversation unless someone else has specifically brought it up, or it’s relevant to the conversation at hand.
As I said, on my blog I feel that I can discuss whatever or whoever I like.
The problem is I run the risk of leaving people with an inaccurate representation of who I really am... or who the people I’m talking about really are.
I need to tell you something.
Yes, my parents are flawed.
But no more than me, you or anyone else.
Yes, I care a lot about what they think.
But not simply because they’re my parents.
My parents are truly extraordinary people.
I care about what they think because they deserve it.
Not because I’m neurotic.
Not because they brainwashed me or mentally tortured me.
Not because they placed huge expectations upon me in an effort to prolong my dependence upon their approval.
But because they deserve it.
The United States, 1974.
They didn’t know anyone, save for some friends of friends. A typical immigrant story?
It’s not.
My parents weren’t your typical “huddled masses” immigrants. They were from wealthy, educated and highly respected families. When they came here, they didn’t bring any of that money or status with them. In fact, in a way, they didn’t even bring their educations with them since foreign degrees aren’t automatically accredited.
So, they left much more behind than what they gained in America. They started over. With less.
Part of the reason my father left was because of he felt stifled by his family’s status. He wanted to live a life that wasn’t encumbered by expectations and visibility. You might not get that, and I didn’t for many years. But, that really is the reason. His life, other than this particular detail, was better in Pakistan in every way.
My mother came here because she was committed to making a life with the man she had just married. And I suspect because she was most likely a little too strong willed and accomplished not to encounter some sort of opposition in a mostly male dominated field in a male dominated society.
They moved from fairly opulent households where they had never had to wash their clothes, clean up after themselves, or go grocery shopping into a one bedroom apartment somewhere on the south side of Chicago. Most people they encountered initially in America had never even heard of Pakistan.
My dad, who was a lawyer, worked in a bottling factory as a foreman. My mom, a neurosurgeon, became a housewife. At least, until she passed accreditation exams and got a residency in Florida.
I can hear people wondering why they would leave wealth, status and power behind for a humble existence in a foreign land among people who spoke a different language, looked nothing like them and, for the most part, didn’t care to know much about them.
But, I don’t wonder.
I know why. Because of me. And my brother.
And that’s one of the reasons I care about what they think.
I know what they gave up for me. They deserve for me to care what they think for that reason alone.
And, yet, there are more.
When I was growing up, my father sat with me almost every day after school and tutored me. In math. In history. In politics. He asked me to read passages from different books and then write one page essays about them. He never returned the essays. He never corrected them. He always looked them over and said in heavily accented English, “This is very good. Are you sure you didn’t copy this from somewhere?”
A deep sense of pride would well up inside of me and I would say, “No, daddy, I wrote that myself.”
And he would say, “Wow. Even people my age cannot write this well.”
I know there were grammatical errors on those essays. I know there were spelling errors. But he looked at those papers and said, “Even the people who write for Reagan cannot write like this.”
I was eight. He was lying. But he made me feel like the smartest person in the world.
When I was seven, my father’s younger brother died in Pakistan of a heart attack. He left behind a wife and five children. My father went to Pakistan to see to their affairs.
He has visited them every year since then to make sure that they were alright. In a patriarchal society like Pakistan, a widow with five children is in the position of being under siege in the social and financial sense.
I remember resenting my father for the time that he devoted to my aunt and my cousins, but, now, I get tears in my eyes as I think about how if that were my brother’s family, I would do the same. No questions asked. Besides the fact that my brother is generally awesome, I think part of the reason I care so much for him is because I witnessed how much a person can, sorry, how much a person should love their brother.
I care about what my father thinks because he deserves that much from me. And more.
Even casual readers of my blog know something about my mom, I guess. But they know what I’ve written about accomplishment, respect, reservedness and calculation. And about how her and I are very different.
I’ve written that, sometimes, I feel like I’m not good enough to be her daughter.
What I haven’t explained is that I think she’s amazing. Sometimes, I don't think anyone is good enough for her.
My mom is not just a doctor. She is the woman who will leave her home with sleeping children at two in the morning so that an eighty year old woman who is breathing her last breath won’t have to die alone. She is the one that holds that woman’s hand, and whispers, “It’s alright, I’m here. You’re going to be fine.” She is the one who does not get paid to do that, but does it because it is good and right and because that woman is somebody to someone.
This hasn't just happened once. I have witnessed this dozens of times.
I feel like people should know this before they decide who she is.
I feel like people should know this before they think I respect her only because she’s my mom or because she’s a doctor or because she's made a lot of money.
Those are such small parts of who she really is.
I care what she thinks because she deserves that from me.
My mother at the apex of her career made more than a lot of CEOs of smaller corporations.
All that time, she drove a used Toyota Camry and shopped at JC Penney.
Why? So that when I went to college, I could graduate completely debt free. She did the same for other members of my family, who were not her children, as well.
Once, my mom paid the tuition of a friend of mine for a semester. She said that the girl was a good student and shouldn’t have to miss a single semester because the people in the student loan office couldn’t get their act together.
It was not a loan. It was a gift.
A gift from a woman who has never bought make up from a department store, a designer purse or even perfume for herself. (Luckily, she has me.)
I also haven’t mentioned on this blog that my mother tells me she’s proud of me all the time.
She tells me that she wishes that she could have been the kind of mother to me that I am to my child. And she says these words without knowing that if I could inspire my daughter to a tenth of the greatness I see in her, I would consider myself successful.
She tells me that she loves me all the time.
If I tell her that she looks nice, she says, “Not as pretty as you, you are the most gorgeous.”
See, what I don’t tell you on this blog is that if I think I’m a disappointment to my parents it’s not their fault.
It’s because I see them.
I see them for who they are.
I know a lot of people thinks their parents are wonderful.
But mine really are.
They didn’t just build an entire life in a brand new country out of nothing.
They did that, preserved the life they had in the country they came from, and improved the lives of hundreds of people in the process.
I don’t like to think about their passing, but this I know, there will be hundreds of people who will cry for them. Who will think it’s unfair. Who will wish it didn’t have to be them.
I will be just one.
I would care what they thought even if they weren’t my parents. In fact, I would probably care more because I wouldn’t be encumbered by the feeling that I was somehow selling out by caring too much.
At any rate, please don’t misunderstand why I care.
A lot of people care what my parents think of them. And for good reason.
Because they deserve it.
I think I’m giving people the wrong impression.
See, a blog, to me, is a place where I can discuss things that don’t come up in the course of regular conversation.
Whether it’s political, social, or personal, I like to go with the flow of a conversation rather than direct the topics chosen. Most of the stuff I discuss here, I wouldn’t bring up in the course of a conversation.
My childhood or my parents don’t come up a lot in every day conversation unless someone else has specifically brought it up, or it’s relevant to the conversation at hand.
As I said, on my blog I feel that I can discuss whatever or whoever I like.
The problem is I run the risk of leaving people with an inaccurate representation of who I really am... or who the people I’m talking about really are.
I need to tell you something.
Yes, my parents are flawed.
But no more than me, you or anyone else.
Yes, I care a lot about what they think.
But not simply because they’re my parents.
My parents are truly extraordinary people.
I care about what they think because they deserve it.
Not because I’m neurotic.
Not because they brainwashed me or mentally tortured me.
Not because they placed huge expectations upon me in an effort to prolong my dependence upon their approval.
But because they deserve it.
The United States, 1974.
They didn’t know anyone, save for some friends of friends. A typical immigrant story?
It’s not.
My parents weren’t your typical “huddled masses” immigrants. They were from wealthy, educated and highly respected families. When they came here, they didn’t bring any of that money or status with them. In fact, in a way, they didn’t even bring their educations with them since foreign degrees aren’t automatically accredited.
So, they left much more behind than what they gained in America. They started over. With less.
Part of the reason my father left was because of he felt stifled by his family’s status. He wanted to live a life that wasn’t encumbered by expectations and visibility. You might not get that, and I didn’t for many years. But, that really is the reason. His life, other than this particular detail, was better in Pakistan in every way.
My mother came here because she was committed to making a life with the man she had just married. And I suspect because she was most likely a little too strong willed and accomplished not to encounter some sort of opposition in a mostly male dominated field in a male dominated society.
They moved from fairly opulent households where they had never had to wash their clothes, clean up after themselves, or go grocery shopping into a one bedroom apartment somewhere on the south side of Chicago. Most people they encountered initially in America had never even heard of Pakistan.
My dad, who was a lawyer, worked in a bottling factory as a foreman. My mom, a neurosurgeon, became a housewife. At least, until she passed accreditation exams and got a residency in Florida.
I can hear people wondering why they would leave wealth, status and power behind for a humble existence in a foreign land among people who spoke a different language, looked nothing like them and, for the most part, didn’t care to know much about them.
But, I don’t wonder.
I know why. Because of me. And my brother.
And that’s one of the reasons I care about what they think.
I know what they gave up for me. They deserve for me to care what they think for that reason alone.
And, yet, there are more.
When I was growing up, my father sat with me almost every day after school and tutored me. In math. In history. In politics. He asked me to read passages from different books and then write one page essays about them. He never returned the essays. He never corrected them. He always looked them over and said in heavily accented English, “This is very good. Are you sure you didn’t copy this from somewhere?”
A deep sense of pride would well up inside of me and I would say, “No, daddy, I wrote that myself.”
And he would say, “Wow. Even people my age cannot write this well.”
I know there were grammatical errors on those essays. I know there were spelling errors. But he looked at those papers and said, “Even the people who write for Reagan cannot write like this.”
I was eight. He was lying. But he made me feel like the smartest person in the world.
When I was seven, my father’s younger brother died in Pakistan of a heart attack. He left behind a wife and five children. My father went to Pakistan to see to their affairs.
He has visited them every year since then to make sure that they were alright. In a patriarchal society like Pakistan, a widow with five children is in the position of being under siege in the social and financial sense.
I remember resenting my father for the time that he devoted to my aunt and my cousins, but, now, I get tears in my eyes as I think about how if that were my brother’s family, I would do the same. No questions asked. Besides the fact that my brother is generally awesome, I think part of the reason I care so much for him is because I witnessed how much a person can, sorry, how much a person should love their brother.
I care about what my father thinks because he deserves that much from me. And more.
Even casual readers of my blog know something about my mom, I guess. But they know what I’ve written about accomplishment, respect, reservedness and calculation. And about how her and I are very different.
I’ve written that, sometimes, I feel like I’m not good enough to be her daughter.
What I haven’t explained is that I think she’s amazing. Sometimes, I don't think anyone is good enough for her.
My mom is not just a doctor. She is the woman who will leave her home with sleeping children at two in the morning so that an eighty year old woman who is breathing her last breath won’t have to die alone. She is the one that holds that woman’s hand, and whispers, “It’s alright, I’m here. You’re going to be fine.” She is the one who does not get paid to do that, but does it because it is good and right and because that woman is somebody to someone.
This hasn't just happened once. I have witnessed this dozens of times.
I feel like people should know this before they decide who she is.
I feel like people should know this before they think I respect her only because she’s my mom or because she’s a doctor or because she's made a lot of money.
Those are such small parts of who she really is.
I care what she thinks because she deserves that from me.
My mother at the apex of her career made more than a lot of CEOs of smaller corporations.
All that time, she drove a used Toyota Camry and shopped at JC Penney.
Why? So that when I went to college, I could graduate completely debt free. She did the same for other members of my family, who were not her children, as well.
Once, my mom paid the tuition of a friend of mine for a semester. She said that the girl was a good student and shouldn’t have to miss a single semester because the people in the student loan office couldn’t get their act together.
It was not a loan. It was a gift.
A gift from a woman who has never bought make up from a department store, a designer purse or even perfume for herself. (Luckily, she has me.)
I also haven’t mentioned on this blog that my mother tells me she’s proud of me all the time.
She tells me that she wishes that she could have been the kind of mother to me that I am to my child. And she says these words without knowing that if I could inspire my daughter to a tenth of the greatness I see in her, I would consider myself successful.
She tells me that she loves me all the time.
If I tell her that she looks nice, she says, “Not as pretty as you, you are the most gorgeous.”
See, what I don’t tell you on this blog is that if I think I’m a disappointment to my parents it’s not their fault.
It’s because I see them.
I see them for who they are.
I know a lot of people thinks their parents are wonderful.
But mine really are.
They didn’t just build an entire life in a brand new country out of nothing.
They did that, preserved the life they had in the country they came from, and improved the lives of hundreds of people in the process.
I don’t like to think about their passing, but this I know, there will be hundreds of people who will cry for them. Who will think it’s unfair. Who will wish it didn’t have to be them.
I will be just one.
I would care what they thought even if they weren’t my parents. In fact, I would probably care more because I wouldn’t be encumbered by the feeling that I was somehow selling out by caring too much.
At any rate, please don’t misunderstand why I care.
A lot of people care what my parents think of them. And for good reason.
Because they deserve it.
Reader Comments (57)
That was fascinating and uplifting. Thank you for sharing.
Is this all because Britt and I said that we thought your mom would be scary? :)
I love this part:
"I know a lot of people think their parents are wonderful.
But mine really are."
@Crys, Thank you for reading... I know it was a little long.
@Avitable, I don't remember you saying she was scary? But, yes, as a matter of fact, it was. And it's fine that you said that if you did, that perception of her was my fault. I should have told you guys *these* things before I told you anything else about her.
And, yeah, my parents are more wonderful than your parents. :)
Well, don't I feel like the fucking useless parent now. ;)
In all seriousness though, that was an amazing tribute to two obviously amazing people. Well done.
This is a wonderful tribute, and I'm very happy that you wrote it...
It explains a bit more...
xo
I love this clarification.
But honestly, I didn't think badly of them in any sense. I mean, seriously, you are way too fricking awesome to have been raised by anyone less than incredible.
You really are. And they know it, too.
xo
Not only do I admire your parents, I admire you. Your parents have done a good job, but you have also obviously done your part to make them proud. Even more than that, how many people have wonderful parents but are too ungrateful and self-involved to realize it?
I need to have a good long think about my mom and dad.
@SciFi Dad, I'm sorry, I'm totally distracted by the fact that you just cursed!! Hahahaha! That was awesome. Now, I know how Adam feels when I e-mail him.
@Princess of the Universe, Yeah, I think I needed to do that for myself... I was starting to feel bad.
@Sybil Law, Thanks for saying that. And meaning it, too.
@Jason, I *was* starting to feel like I was coming off as a self centered ass for giving people the impression that they were "bad" parents. It's easy to get caught up in the pain and dismiss all the good intentions (and actions).
I love it! Just like you said, we are all flawed and that's what makes us who we are. It's ok that we complain about our parents, just as I am sure they complain about us. It doesn't mean that we don't love and respect them. Your blog is an outlet for you and you can write whatever you want - without worrying about what anyone else thinks. At least I say you can. :)
In a totally non-weird, non-stalkerish way, it was really cool to read about your history, your parents' history. A lot of second- and third generation Americans just don't understand what it means to immigrate, or what it means to be from an Arabic country. I think a lot of people make a lot of very wrong assumptions about the people they call "foreigners."
I also think that a lot of people don't see their parents the way they should see them. Every once in a while I'll get a glimpse of just how amazing my parents are, but it's not even the whole of it. Thank you for sharing this.
[...] This post was Twitted by futurowoman - Real-url.org [...]
Faiqa, I absolutely loved this post....like omigod for reals! Seriously though, I always love it when people have good things to say about their parents because I've only got one that I admire and the other? Um yeah, banned.
It is always easier to focus on the negatives because really, how many people blog about how *great* everything is in their life? Not many....
And I'm with Sybil - your parents must be awesome to have raised you to be the woman that you are. Of course, I probably should re-think that stance because geesh, clearly she never took you to Wal-Mart.
for what its worth, i dont think ive ever had a negative impression of your family, but after reading this, i think they are truly outstanding people...
Maybe I see things differently, but in any post you've written about your parents--no matter what it was about--I've seen exactly what you're talking about here.
I see it in the woman you are, and the fact that you don't, at times, feel as if you're good enough to be their daughter. I've always felt that was due to immense respect and admiration, not fear or low self-esteem.
@Kimberly, You're right, of course. But, I'm not worried about what people think so much as what I have said. If that makes any sense.
@Elizabeth Kaylene, I think it's ahrd to see parents for who they really are because some of us (me!) have a tendency to regress when they're around. It's like, "Hi, I'm Faiqa, the most evolved person on earth," but as soon as my mom walks in the room and says, "Do you want something to drink?", I'm all, "This is just like when you didn't let me stay out past ten when I was in high school!! You're so controlling!!" LOL
@Hilly, Thanks. And, umm, LOL, ROFL, LMAO (GAG) at "omigod for reals."
@Sheila (Charm School Reject), She tried to take me to Wal Mart. TRIED... and, hey, you would be proud, I went to Wal Mart for groceries yesterday. I saved almost $30. Then I bought rubbing alcohol with that money and doused myself with it. I still feel dirty, though. I don't think that will ever go away. ;)
@Slyde, Thank you. And it's worth a lot. I feel a lot less guilty., now.
@Finn, Well, yeah, because you're a goddess with deep insights into my very SOUL.
This post is amazing. And, though I don't know you in real life, you seem pretty amazing, too. Please don't ever think you're not good enough or a disappointment (although I know we all feel that way from time to time). I'd bet my life that your parents have not seen and do not see you that way for one single second.
And he would say, “Wow. Even people my age cannot write this well.”
I know there were grammatical errors on those essays. I know there were spelling errors. But he looked at those papers and said, “Even the people who write for Reagan cannot write like this.”
I was eight. He was lying. But he made me feel like the smartest person in the world.
goddammit, you just made me all teary. esstop it!
your parents are amaa-ZING, and you're amazing, too, for realizing what rockstars they are. what an absolutely beautiful tribute to your mother and father. i saw a little bit of my own parents reflected in this, too, and i hope someday i can write about them just as eloquently, and tell them in person how much i admire them, too.
i wish there were a Favorite button for this post, or a Love one (not that silly little Like button they have on facebook. i more than Like this, dammit!)
PS: my mom's immediate family has always been in pakistan, and, several times a year, my father sends them money and makes sure they're well-supplied when it comes to medicine and anything else they may need. he does this even moreso now that my mother's brothers and sister have passed away, each leaving behind so many children. and he has always said, re. my mother's nieces and nephews, the younger children who are still in school, 'i will pay for food, books, uniforms, tuition, fees, everything, as long as you make sure you send those children to school.'
if i grow up to be half as generous and compassionate as my parents, i think i could consider my life a great success.
@Kate, Thank you so much, and even though I don't know *you* in real life I'm sending you lots of love for taking the time to say something so kind.
@yasmine, Well, it sounds like you're parents are amazing rock stars, too!! BTW, there's a Stumble button... do you not see it? Or maybe you don't use Stumble?
Wow. I hope to God someday my children can speak about me with half as much admiration as you have spoken about yours here.
You know, for what it's worth, I can't really tell you what I've gotten from the blog and what I've gotten from you face to face - but you've always given me a very good impression of your parents. A little intimidating, yes. But I've also relayed the stories you've told me about your mom's work to my own mother in awe.
In my job at the head office for a retail apparel chain a man from Tibet worked as a pick-packer in the warehouse. He was a diplomat in his home country.
It broke my heart to know that. I really hope he is doing amazing things 10 years later.
In my opinion, this is the best post on this blog yet. Do you realize that in 3 years, i will have lived closer to your parents, for a longer period of time, than my own. I am happy to be related to such wonderful people. In these years, i could (and have) always count on your mother driving to our house (which 45 mins away) in the middle of the night to take care of me because she had just learnt that I wasn't feeling well. I could (and have) always count on your dad to make me laugh or have a genuine conversation about anything. I also love the fact that he takes my side when we are arguing with you :)...it takes at least two people to debate with you anyway. I am fortunate to have met such sincere and loving people. I can only hope that when we are older there are half as many people who think of us the way their friends think of them.
Well said! I know I rant about my family often, but I still love them and know they love me. We have our misunderstandings but they will always be there for me.
I think its wonderful that you wrote such a moving tribute to your parents. Most people just focus on the negatives and blame their parents for all the problems in their lives.
Its a post like this that shows everyone just how beautiful you are on both the inside and the out :)
I can't believe I missed this entry...I absolutely loved it!! It hit home for me so much because of my whole immigrant parents situation... expectations are always ridiculously high because they've often had to overcome ridiculous odds or give up their entire lives to achieve what they have.
I think that's part of the reason why I am not only grateful for what I have and what they've given me, but at the same time I feel I will never make them happy or feel good enough, if that makes sense.
Hopefully, I can pass on what I've learned from them (and other expatriates and their children like you and your parents) to my future children.
So awesome. :)
@Faiqa, Ha ha ha! Or like when my grandmother offers to dish things out for me, I'm like, "I can do it! I'm a grown up!" :D
Faiqa.
I'm speechless. I'm so glad you shared your parents' story with us. I hope someday to meet them and tell them, "You have a wonderful daughter and it's because you're wonderful parents and people."
Thanks, hon!
I think that's part of the reason why I am not only grateful for what I have and what they've given me, but at the same time I feel I will never make them happy or feel good enough, if that makes sense.
Robin! I understand EXACTLY what you mean, too! =/
[...] after reading Faiqa’s post yesterday, I just wanted to take the time to also say that my family members do have flaws, they aren’t [...]
whatever, dude
@Miss Britt, So, what you're saying is, they sound scary, but in a *good* way. I get it. Heh.
@Poppy, Oh, wow. I hope so, too.
@tariq, A lot of the way you feel is due to the mature and loving way that you handle your relationship with them, as well.
@Sarcastica, Exactly.
@Becky, Thanks, Becky.
@Robin, Yeah, yeah, when are you coming to Florida so we can finally meet?!
@Coal Miner's Granddaughter Thanks-- I can't believe I missed out on the chance to meet you!!
@Zia, Oh, wow... that's not the response I was expecting from you AT ALL <--That? Was sarcasm.
@Faiqa, most likely in October for Adam's bash. I am thinking of making it a four day weekend because there are so many people I want to see/meet (you, Britt, Cissa, my uncle, etc. I am having trouble getting all of the time off though. We will see what happens. :)