My dad was Palestinian. I say “was” because unfortunately, my father passed away in 2010 (God rest his soul). My dad was one of the best men that I believe I will ever know. There were a lot of times where it was evident that my dad was NOT from this country. Not only because of the heavy accent he kept throughout his life, but rather his demeanor.
Despite the fact that he had received his American citizenship in 1973, my father still acted like he was still home in Rammun, Palestine. He had this funny “old Arab man” thing about him – in the sense that my dad was always, and I mean always, looking at items that wouldn’t even catch the attention of most, as if it had just been dropped off by the alien spacecraft in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind. I mean any first generation kid like me, can attest to the times a family member sat there examining normal everyday items like it was some long lost treasure. If you can… then you know what it was like, “Growing Up Arab.”