My mum in the car is all silent and quiet due to certain reasons so I'm the only one who's talking to my dad. We're talking about everything whatsoever may be happening. Something happens to the car, and he's telling me about it just the way a father talks to his eldest son. And then the best thought in life occurred to me, I may be my dad's son!
I know it sounds oh-so-^o) but really, my dad treats me like that. Just like that. I am his first baby girl and the love one has for the first child is unconditional and one&only, I tell you. Endless. There's love and respect with a blend of reality. My dad loves me. Not the love a daughter gets from her mother, not the love where he'll make coffee for you and massage your head, not the affection when you scratch your knee. Nope. This love is much more than that. This love is about standing for your self. This love is about making cold-coffee when I'll have a flu, affection to scramble to the ground and get up myself. This love is about independence rather than reliance.
My dad has always respected me, always. Even when I was young, he'd respect my views and he always thought high of me. It used to be weird when other parents would just ignore suggestions given by their 8-year old child, while my dad would actually try whatever I suggested. We're more of friends. Me and my dad make a good team. We joke around and neither would mind anything. Of course, sometimes
I cross the line, but due to respect I always apologize.
Back in the years when we used to go to Pakistan for the holidays, people used to think that what an ill-mannered daughter I am, and I have no 'tameez' of talking to my dad. But actually, one thing they never knew was that we were different. Something hard to explain, something hard to understand.
My dad has never complained of not having a son, because it's not a huge issue for either of my parents, it's just me who wants to have a brother. :) So well, my dad's kind of trained me for hardware engineering. =p By 8 I think, I knew what was the screwdriver, the wrench, etc. and I loved helping him out. I was always scared of the ear-piercing sound of the drill, and the head-banging sound of the hammer but I got used to it. =D And it was nice! So well, I see a son in me somewhere. =D
He's called us his dreams come true. =D I'm his American dream, Sibgha the um, Saudi dream, because of her Palestinian touch and Manal his Pakistani dream because she's kind of... um, weird or something. =/ So well, I love being American dream and I love my name too. =D
He's given me all that I've ever desired. Really. I was the first one in my class to get a laptop at such a young age, the first one to get a cell phone and that also an i-mate-though it sucked. He might've spoiled me a bit but that doesn't matter at all to me. =D There's nothing more I could ever want but to be with my dad always. Always. (:
Just the way orange wants green, contacts want solution, Rija loves her mum, Sibgha loves Miranda Citrus, I love my dad! I love him from the bottom of my heart! The only thing that matters.
My Papa Jaani.