A few days ago was my father’s 65th birthday … here were some words I delivered at a surprise birthday in his honor …
Many of you know my dad’s story: He was born in Damascus, grew up in poverty in Aleppo and Beirut and came to the US at the age of 16 accompanied only by my grandmother’s wedding jewelry (which he never sold), 68$, and a singular vision: to be a doctor. Many of you know he didn’t see his family for 6 years, showed up in NYC not knowing what a hot dog was, speaking rudimentary English, working as a dry cleaner by day, saving every penny and going to Queens college by night.
Many of you know he made his way to Wake Forest University (my own alma mater) in North Carolina, ate out of vending machines on school breaks while other students went home to spend holidays with families, received a personal recommendation from the president of the university to attend Wake Forest Medical school and eventually, against wild odds, accomplished his dream.
Many of you know the outward details of the life of a man who never followed a path, but created one.
I want to share my experience and honor of being the eldest born of such a man.
My sisters and I grew up in many ways, in a feminist household. Our father, from the youngest age was adament about the excellence of our academics. Summers were spent learning SAT words, hours reading in the library, and any extracurricular activity in the theatre for me was made against the barter of maintaining a straight A report card. He would hold summits where he read motivational quotes to us from positive self help gurus like Zig Ziglar, and give us private classical guitar concerts (he is self-taught) waxing poetic on the importance of study, and practice and hard work.