Like every father, I had dreams and hopes for my son. Such dreams included a happy childhood away from struggle and strife (civil unrest, let alone civil war), and a deep rooted sense of pride in the fact that he was Lebanese. I am fully aware that the “cocodi” has long been gone, the family trips to “Spinneys” by the airport road can no longer be undertaken, “Saint Simon” and “Accapulco” have now been replaced by “Tasli7 ashikmon”, that Christmas does no longer officially begin with the lights on Hamra street, and “Toyland” is no longer there. Many memories I would have liked to relive through Tarek (my son). Granted people evolve and things change, but a great part of local history has been wiped out and no one seems to care. None of those erected dicks (running for election) seem to give a damn about keeping this “life line” going. What we are left with today in this cursed country of mine are landmarks reflecting the hatred that has been brewing for years and suddenly exploded.
Today I took my son for a haircut and for a split second I was transported back in time, back to the days when my dad took me to the local barber shop (now we have “salon de coiffure”). It made me realize (although a normal evolution) that even the simplest of experiences I would have liked to share with Tarek is no longer possible; for the times have changed. If only they have changed for the best, I wouldn’t have minded. I came to realize that many of my childhood’s cherished memories I will never relive or share with him. He will never ride the bumper cars at the “Cocodi”, swim in the “Saint Simon”, go to Toyland or 2aisar 3amer, cinema Saroulla…. Etc.
At the “salon de coiffure” today I could smell talcum powder and Old Spice, but it was only in my head.
So to my dear leaders (all, with no exception) Wlek fri2ouna bi ri7ha taybeh, but be kind enough to pick any of the following, for it reminds me of days long gone but never forgotten.
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