Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [28]
My father, watching from the other side, would wait until his opponent moved to race to the hat, pick it up, and return to the finish line. My father’s goal was to catch the boy before he touched the finish line. My father had impossibly long legs, and was trim and fit, but his young sons could run as fast as the wind. Despite our ability to move quickly, my father was always the winner, because my brothers and I made it sure of it.
In my culture, we take care never to defeat someone who is older, and certainly never enjoy a victory against our fathers. Therefore, out of respect, my brothers and I always slowed our pace to make certain our father could catch us before we returned safely to the line.
For me, there was a sting attached to the game; I didn’t think it was fair to pretend, to let someone win. Without confiding in my brothers, one day I decided that I was going to defeat my father by grabbing that hat and making undue haste back to the base. I would not let him catch me.
The next time we played the game, I knew that I would win. Until my turn came, the races went as usual, with my brothers allowing our father to catch them. But I roared off, fast and nippy, making it quickly to the hat, turning to race back to the base line. My father was shocked when he realized I was running too fast for him to catch me. He sailed through the air and I felt his hands as they made contact with my feet. But I slipped away with a few clever twists. I heard my brothers cry out when our father landed on the compacted dirt on his elbows.
Taking the full impact of his dive, he damaged his elbows and dislocated his right shoulder. The expression on my father’s face told me that he was in genuine pain. I hung back, shocked and dazed that I had caused the disaster. I was frightened to watch as my father was loaded into a car to be taken to the hospital in Jeddah.
Even after the initial medical treatment, we were told that my father would have to endure cortisone injections and physiotherapy for the next six months. The painful injury was serious and meant that he could not even travel to Pakistan, to return to his important work for Islam.
My brothers were annoyed with me, for they had grown to dislike my father’s presence in Jeddah. They wanted him to return to Pakistan, for they said he was too strict when he was around us.
You might have guessed by now that my father was not an affectionate man. He never cuddled me or my brothers. I tried to force him to show affection, and was told that I made a pest of myself. When he was home, I remained near, pulling attention-gaining pranks as frequently as I dared.
Nothing sparked his fatherly warmth. In fact, my annoying behavior encouraged him to start carrying his signature cane. As time passed, he began caning me and my brothers for the slightest infraction.
Thankfully, my father had a different attitude when it came to the females in our family. I never heard him shout at his mother, his sisters, my mother, or my sisters. I never saw him strike a woman.
He reserved all the harsh treatment for his sons.
Despite his cruelty, I loved my father so much that I could not restrain my joy each time he returned from a long trip. As a child, I had little understanding of the situation in Afghanistan, although I overheard men speak of their dislike for the Russians. Yet I didn’t hate the Russians because they occupied Afghanistan. I hated the Russians because they took my father away from me.
I remember one particular time when he had been away for longer than usual. I was desperate for his attention. He was sitting on the floor quietly studying intricate military maps. Hoping that he would not order me from the room, I watched him as he carefully laid his map flat on the floor, his earnest face puckered in thought, meticulously studying every hill and valley, mentally preparing for the next military campaign.
Unable to restrain myself a moment longer, I suddenly ran past him, laughing loudly, skipping, shifting my feet in various clever positions, striving to capture his attention.