write an article on the topic yesterday when my father told me
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One evening about 10 years ago, after a family dinner filled with my father’s stories of his childhood and youth in Damascus and Lebanon, my mother and I were in the kitchen when she said, “Someday, we ought to record your father telling his stories.” Many of them told about experiences with his parents and paternal grandparents, whom he referred to using the affectionate Arabic Jiddu and Teta—Grandpa and Grandma.
A few weeks later, the Gallery Al-Quds in Washington, D.C., asked me to consider developing work for a solo exhibition. During the conversation I mentioned the possibility of a show centered around my father’s true stories and, ultimately, his arrival in the us. I told the gallery I envisioned a series of paintings, each based on one of his stories, inspired stylistically by Jacob Lawrence’s famous series, “The Migration of the Negro.”
The gallery loved the idea, but then I had to ask my father for his approval. This turned out to be not so easy. Born in 1927 in Damascus, he moved to Beirut, Lebanon, in 1933, though he returned often to Damascus to visit family. In 1946, he was 19 years old when my grandparents brought him with them to the us.
At first, he refused my request, explaining that these were private family stories. My mother said they would talk it over. About an hour later, my father agreed, reluctantly, to write down his stories.
Many times I would go to my parents’ home in Alexandria, Virginia, and I would sit at the kitchen table while my father showed me a new story he was working on. They were not long, and with each one he added a bit more detail. This enriched my painting, and it also allowed a special intimacy during those conversations. I treasure those times.
We continued over several years, a story here and a story there, until there were 24. After that, he said that was the last one.
I keep hoping he will change his mind......
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