The First Men Who Loved Me

The first men who loved me were my great-grandfather, grandfathers on both sides, and father. These men were dreamers who worked hard and I had a front row seat. And I was also witness to the women who loved them with their whole heart. I have their heart. I learned about my great-grandmother’s love through my mom, who she raised as her own.

I was raised by men who cooked.

I was raised by men who worked hard for their dreams.

I was raised by men with a dollar and a dream.

I was raised by men who made their dreams come true.

My Egyptian grandfather was the most romantic man I knew as a kid. He and my grandmother loved going to Disneyland when they came to visit the States. They also loved to spend hours at the park across the street from our place, sitting on a bench talking. They always held hands. I could see and feel how much he adored her.

These men introduced me to another world. I could feel their love in the crevices of the complexity of who they became as men with a family and a dream. Loving them has contributed to the complexity of who I was, and through therapy, who I am. The blessing and curse is they taught me what I want and don’t want in a partner. My not having kids to date has been more intentional than not. I don’t take a father’s role lightly. And I have done my best to preserve the best parts of them in me and the life they introduced me to.

This year, I am using today to honor what I choose to continue to carry with me cause the connection and memories draw back to their humanity. They built lives for themselves on another continent, leaving the families they came from to create a life with the family they brought or built.

Happy Father’s Day