Just a slice...

So what have I been doing in the last month since I last checked in with a blog post? Just daily life, really: going to school, grading papers, watching Downton Abbey (finishing Season Four, but I checked in with another group in Season Two), enjoying the onset of spring. I returned home to Jordan a month ago after spring break in Cincinnati. It was a perfectly normal trip in a breezy, quotidian manner. But I did return with a special visitor: my dad. My dad visited once before, in the fall of 2008, the second year of the school, and many things have changed since then. Obviously all of the student body has changed (a student body that has doubled in size since then!), the headmaster has changed, the dean of students has changed…half the faculty… We now have alumni…but I am still in the same apartment and frankly, I’m not sure if anything in my apartment has changed. And I write fewer blog entries. In those days I wrote blog entries twice as often…I suppose the daily life is very much the same.

 

But back to the point! My dad came to Jordan for a return visit! I had worried a little about his travel-ability. Last spring he had a blood-disease-scare for us, and he is over 80 after all. But I had wanted him to come visit Jordan mainly to spend time with the colleagues that I enjoy so much. Last visit we took to the road quite frequently, tramping through Petra, wondering at the Roman ruins in Jerash, contemplating the Crusader castle in Karak, exploring the Baptism site at the Dead Sea—lots of places in Jordan. This time, it was mostly meals and small talk. My dad came for an 8-day feast of fellowship and food.

 

This afternoon as I sat down to reflect on his recent visit, I looked back to what I wrote in 2008 about his visit (which yielded four blog entries!) and here are some of memories of 2008:

 

Toward the end of my father’s big visit to Jordan, I asked him what my mother might have thought of this trip, and he smiled, speculating, “She woulda been on cloud nine the whole time!” He didn’t really need to explain why his Mary Martha would have been so ebullient—I mean if you know our family lore, she was famous for emphasizing any time any trip was in question: “I’ll go!” But my dad went on, “the only thing I think is that she would have wanted more time everywhere”—“let me sit here a little longer in this history class; let me linger a little more at the baptism site; let me ponder a little more about re-tracing the steps of Moses or those Old Testament Moabites; let me hold the hand of my new Jordanian friend a little longer; let me try one more Arab sweet; let me process one more time through that Roman arch; let me ask one more person about growing up in Palestine; let me hear the call to prayer one more time; let me talk to one more faculty member about being a pioneer at this school; let me thank one more student for their refreshing vigor; let me contemplate a little deeper about the possibilities for peace in this Holy Land”—I can almost hear the entreaties she would have offered up.

 

My father has been home in the United States for six days now, and I am sure he has regaled the denizens of the Imperial Diner with the stories of his sauntering in the Holy Land, but I imagine that the most revealing, most illuminating parts of his trip don’t translate well for mass consumption. I mean, it is fun to talk of the camels, and the lunatic drivers, and the mystery meat, and yes, they do have stores that sell things, even P&G products—but I think one memorable element of his trip, and elusive to relay, was his visit to my classroom seeing the KA students in action.

 

My father came to class everyday on this visit as well, although to a different course than when he visited in 2008. Now I teach AP Art History, and he arrived the week that a group of disaffected youth gave birth to Impressionism, a new attitude about the slices of daily life that no one had painted or lionized in their quick, fast-paced, non-judgmental way. This slice of daily life as art offended many at the time, but eventually has become beloved. Again, one of the things he enjoyed the most in the visit was listening to the students (I think he enjoyed watching me teach, as well, but one day he did shake his head and say, “You sure gesture a lot as you teach!”) He marveled as they debated the work of Monet and Manet (“it’s not the same guy?” he wondered!)

As we walked around campus one afternoon he wondered, “Do you think anyone taught like this when I was in school? I mean we never studied any of these things, and history was just about battles and dates. Do you think anyone was doing this exciting work back then?” He then launched into his observations about the students’ friendliness, and willingness to work and become more effective students—the very things I have been telling him since the end of the first year of the school.

 

I wrote this in 2008 after his visit ended:  It still strains credulity that my father made the trip—after all he hasn’t left the United States since 1953. Then he was with the US Air Force and he crossed the Atlantic with his mates in a ship that took 17 days. His entire travel time today—even with the requisite two hour arrival, and the layover in New York, is under 20 hours!

 

I mean this is a man who doesn’t like to go across town for dinner!

 

But this sphinx-like man with the heart of gold, ability to talk to anyone and the gentlest/firmest grip I know came, to Jordan and did what he does best: went out to dinner and talked to people in his leisurely, caring way. I think he was a hit.

 

There were a couple of lovely moments just this morning, as his visit came to an end. We had packed up the car with his suitcases about seven, before breakfast. I would drive him over to the airport at 10, after my first classes. I had to stop over and make a few copies before class, so I sent him off to the Dining Hall—I knew he would be fine. Food and conversation are his calling cards. As I rounded the corner, I saw that my dear student Hamzeh had come up to him, and they walked into the DH together—busily chatting. I heard my dad say, “Anza, how are you today?” He is a good man—not a natural Arabic speaker, but a friendly man. There they were, two of my favorite people together.

 

One of the constants in my father’s two visits to Jordan is his botching of Arabic names! The man is so talented, in so many areas, but yet…he does not have an ear for names in Arabic! We had spent an evening with my dear friend Mazen, and as we pull into the school parking lot, my dad says, “Is this where you park every day, Marvin?” I said, “His name is Mazen, and he repeated, like I had erred: “That’s what I said—Marvin!” And when he met with Sharifa, well, that name didn’t come close to the real one. But it was fun, in this post-Oscar Idina Menzel world to have someone Travolta-ize a name! And my father can do that well!

 

So this trip was not about visiting sites and spots in Jordan—it was about the people in my life. We had dinner out every evening, and here is a rundown of our gastronomic itinerary: 

Saturday          Lubna picked us up at the airport, and I knew my father would remember her from our last visit. We went to our go-to spot, Haret Jdoudna in Madaba. I reminded Lubna of her marriage proposal to my dad before: “If you convert, I’ll marry you!” She reminded me that she thinks my dad is still the more handsome of the two of us!

Sunday          Tonight we went to Madaba to have pizza with Hamzeh. This young man is another constant in my life since 2007, and my father liked seeing him now as junior in college since he was, in 2008, a sophomore in high school.

Monday          On this night Moamer whisked us into Amman for an evening at Burger Shack. Since Moamer and I have been conducting “science experiments” for the best burger in Amman for years, my father should definitely have a hand in gathering some evidence.

Tuesday          Tonight’s invitation came from Shaden, a dear colleague who is the head of our world languages department, and the mother of one of my prize students. Shaden made a feast for kings, course after course, from soup and salad, to fruit and cake. Every dish seemed better than the last. What a magnificent meal!

Wednesday          On this evening we went to the headmaster’s house, and we spent the evening with Monica, Chris and Ruba, and Peter. John grilled steaks, and tonight my dad regaled them with stories from the Imperial Dinner. Another evening of merriment and full tummies.

 

Thursday          The school week ended going out with Mazen and his wife, or of course, Marvin, as my dad hears it. We invited Mona to come along and we went to a place in Amman famous for traditional, grandma-like meals.

Friday       During the day we visited the Royal Automobile Museum in Amman. This was our one tourist-y thing of the trip. This worked so well for us: my dad loved staring at the engines in the wide variety of great cars, and I loved how the design of the museum told the history of modern-day Jordan through seeing King Hussein’s cars. We had lunch with Annabel, a former colleague, and her husband. Then we finished the day with a lingering conversation and flank steak with Julianne. I had looked forward to watching these two in deep conversation, and they didn’t disappoint. They talked about construction and tools and a host of other things. I did the dishes for a long time, leaving them to talk shop happily. Watching their amiable coziness was a delight. In so many ways these stoic two are like siblings. 

Saturday     For my dad’s last day in Jordan we enjoyed a grand luncheon on Mona’s terrace in Amman. This was the feast to end all feasts for a dozen of my friends. Since meals and conversation are at the heart of many of dad’s favorite activities in the USA, it was a delight to revel in the spring Saturday afternoon with loads of great foods, from the salads to the desserts…oh, Mona, you spoiled all of us.

So, it was a month of just daily life, of enjoying the poetry of the quotidian. I finished the last season of Dexter, whose boat by the way is called, “Slice of Life,” a little joke on his being a serial killer that I love. My dad has been ensconced back in his daily life for three weeks now, but he is still enjoying telling the tales of the visit, assuring them he never felt unsafe.

I wanted my friends here to know this man better, this tower of strength and charm and kindness. Both worlds probably have a better sense now as to why I love to visit both worlds.