Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [103]
My father stopped speaking for a few minutes, quiet, with his eyes looking past me, reliving a memory that had occurred long before I had been born.
“Omar, I only had one personal one-on-one experience with your grandfather. This happened a year or so before he was killed.
“When I was only nine years old, I was struck by the strongest desire to have my own car. I had an early love of cars. I talked incessantly about them, goading my dear mother and stepfather, Muhammad Attas, to desperation. As you know, Muhammad was never a man of wealth, and he could not afford to indulge me. But after months of my pestering my dear mother, Muhammad announced that he was going to ask for an audience with my biological father, so that I could express my wish to the only man who had the power to make it happen.
“When I heard the strategy, I was nervous but excited. I had never stood alone in front of your grandfather, as I only saw him when he summoned all his sons. Therefore, I didn’t have the sort of relationship that would make the situation easy. But I was determined to carry out the plan.
“Finally the big day came. Muhammad Attas led me into your grandfather’s office in Jeddah. There he was, sitting behind the largest desk I’ve ever seen. Unsmiling, he looked at me and then said, ‘What is it you want, my son?’
“Muhammad Attas squeezed my shoulder in encouragement, both of us relieved that I had been so easily acknowledged, because it was known that your grandfather never recognized his own sons. Always, he would ask the son before him to identify himself by naming his mother. But on that day my father knew that I was his son. I realize now that it was only because Muhammad Attas was accompanying me, and your grandfather knew who my mother had married. But I didn’t think about the logical explanation at the time, and felt so very pleased that your grandfather knew exactly who I was.
“Your grandfather was looking me sternly in the eye. I dropped my own gaze because I would never lock eyes with him, careful not to show disrespect. I fixed my eyes to the floor, listening as he asked me to tell him why I was there. He asked the same question three times before I finally found my voice. I surprised myself with my steady tone. ‘I want a car, Father.’
“He kept asking the same question and I kept replying with the same answer.
“Finally he asked me: ‘Osama, why do you need a car?’
“I answered: ‘I need a car so that I can drive to school.’
“He asked: ‘Why do you think you deserve a car?’
“I replied: ‘I like cars. I will be good at driving.’
“He asked: ‘Are you good at school?’
“I replied: ‘I am.’
“He asked: ‘Are you an obedient child?’
“I replied: ‘I am very good.’
“He sat silent for a moment, making his decision.
“I stood quietly, just holding my breath.
“He broke the silence. ‘I will not give you a car. I will give you a bicycle.’
“I was devastated, but knew I would be beaten if I challenged his decision. He returned his gaze to the documents laid out on his desk. I thanked him and walked away. He did not say goodbye, and neither did I. I believe that was the last time I ever saw your grandfather, although of course I did not know that was our final meeting at the time. Only God knew our future, that your grandfather would be dead within the year.
“My heart was so heavy that I could not speak. Muhammad Attas was the kindest stepfather, making every effort to cheer me up during the drive home, trying to excite me over the idea that I would soon get a new bicycle.
“A red bicycle was duly delivered but failed to spark joy in my heart. I think I rode it a few times and then gave it to one of my younger brothers. Then one day several weeks later I received the biggest shock of my life. A shiny new car was delivered to our home in Jeddah!