My family’s full of turkey and the kids are tucked into bed. This was my first Thanksgiving without my father, and I miss him terribly. I have a lot to be grateful for, but I’m not quite ready to write about it. In memory of my dad, here is my blog post from Thanksgiving 2008. – Alanna
Giving thanks
My father was born in Calcutta in 1939. His family rode the death trains in 1946, after their apartment complex was firebombed. They ended up in Karachi, with the rest of the IDPs, who, of course, became refugees once the subcontinent split. In 1962 my dad went to Canada – to study at McGill – and never lived in Pakistan again.
I am a native speaker of the world’s language of privilege. I have never gone truly hungry, I have two degrees, and I didn’t give birth until the age of thirty. These things are true not because of any particular giftedness on my part. They are true solely because I was born in Syracuse, New York instead of Karachi, Pakistan.
This wouldn’t be true if my father had left school when his parents wanted him to. If he’d decided to study in Islamabad instead of Montreal. If he’d married the girl arranged for him instead of choosing my mom and breaking with his family. If he’d married a woman who could go back to Pakistan with him.
One path un-followed, just one, and I would not be the aid worker blogging here about the need to treat your local partners well. Instead, I’d be that local partner fighting for respect. I’d have less money, more health risks, fewer choices in my life and a shorter life in which to make those choices. I’d have to struggle to make a good life instead of having it handed to me.
And so, every year on Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the hard choices my father made, for the life he won for his children. I am thankful for the freedom of movement that let his family flee for their lives, and let my father make himself a new life.
And I remember: I did nothing to earn this.
****
(photo credit: my mom)
From left to right: My dad, myself, my brother. Many years ago.
Although I am lucky to still have my father in my life, this post was really touching and I too feel grateful to my father for the choices he made. Like your father my dad had to move within the subcontinent during partition, however my father was born in Bangladesh and being Hindu, his entire family was forced to move to a town nearby Calcutta. I was lucky to be born in the US as well and I too think about how different my life would be if my dad hadn’t chosen to make a life for himself here. To a certain extent I think there is a sense of duty or maybe even guilt associated with this. For me, it is a deciding factor in why I have chosen to pursue a career in international development, to maybe help someone when I could have been exactly where they are.
Oh, honey. I had no idea your father had passed – either I missed your saying so, or it’s been too painful to say. Either way, love and strength and compassion to you and your remaining family.