Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [102]
“Omar, I have a few stories about your Grandfather bin Laden that you might like to hear,” my father promised as he sat cross-legged on the floor, holding his teacup.
Eagerly I joined him, listening to every word.
“Omar, your grandfather was a genius who helped build the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, bringing the country out of the sand. While your grandfather was working, some members, mainly Saud, one of the eldest sons, was foolishly squandering the early oil wealth. But my father was so loyal to the first king, Abdul Aziz, who happened to be a very fine man, that nothing could tempt him to say a word against the behavior of the king’s son.”
My father paused, a faraway look in his eyes, thinking, then said, “But of course that is not my story.
“Omar, your grandfather was a very tough man, because the times called for it. He was most inflexible when it came to his children. He had rules for everything.
“I remember once when your grandfather called his sons home for one reason or another. He had a strict rule that when he met with his sons, we must stand in a very straight line, organized according to height, rather than age. We would nervously gather, from the tallest to the shortest. The half-siblings saw each other infrequently, so we spent a lot of time measuring ourselves against each other, taking care not to get in the wrong position, because it was easy enough for your grandfather to spot the one delinquent. Before I became a teenager, I was not the tallest, although I overtook my brothers later in life. On that day two of my older brothers, both taller than me, locked me between them. I really didn’t know what to do. Being a shy boy, I stood silently, hoping against hope that your grandfather would not notice I had gotten captured between two taller brothers.
“Your grandfather noticed. Furious, he marched to stand in front of me and, without one word of warning, struck me as hard as he could across my face. I nearly fell backwards. I’ve never forgotten the pain of that blow, both physically and mentally.
“But you can be sure I never broke that rule again, but would dash back and forth until I found my proper place in the lineup.
“While your grandfather was too rough with his own children, he was the most generous man when it came to strangers. I remember once when he stuffed a canvas bag with money and made his way to a small village known for its poverty. He knocked on every door, distributing cash to surprised but happy villagers. It was the sort of effort the king himself often made. Most people who knew them both reported that King Abdul Aziz and your grandfather were like-minded.
“I remember my mother telling me one of the reasons she grew unhappy married to your grandfather. She recalled that his servants were usually young boys and men, and that he had a shocking habit of asking his wives to take off their veils and stand in a line, sending for his male servants to look upon their faces and point out his most beautiful wife. Of course, the male servants were terrified that their answer might anger their employer, or even rile the wives, who held some power within the confines of the household. Not surprisingly, your grandfather’s wives were devastated to be treated thus, for in those days women wanted to veil, finding it humiliating to be lined up like harlots on view. But your grandfather was king in his household and everyone