My roommate's father is an aged, tall (but not as tall as my own father) Persian man of confidence. In the photos I've seen, he's dark: with dark eyes, dark hair, and a rather strong, powerful stature resonates through the worn ink...making you feel as tho, if he were standing over you with that same stern look, your own future would feel very dark. I was a bit nervous about meeting him and cleaned my house rather frantically in the 2 hours I had to prepare for his arrival. He would come in the night while I was at work. I would meet him in the morning or at some point during the evening of the next day.
I ended up getting sick at work that night...so I came home rather miserable...and went to sleep rather thankful I saw no one in between the door and my bed...and also hopeful that no one would be in to wake me, until I either died or came alive again.
I forget our initial conversation. It must have been me explaining my current position, or him requesting some such of information about our house and the placement of things. He came do do work for his son, after all.
I ended up coming alive that first day and we spent an hour or so discussing who we each were and where we each were going. He was the accomplished man I thought he was, having overcome and conquered obstacles many of us will never know, he is now able to serve and assist the dear family he values most. I was pleased that he accredited his wife with the responsibility of keeping him so healthy and well. The conversation ended with quite a long spiel about me never giving up on what I truly want out of this world. I was hesitant (and later understood why) to tell him during this spiel that of course I never would give up, if only I could figure out what I wanted....because once I let out this truth it led to a new spiel. One more excited on knowing yourself.
Unfortunately, I spent the majority of the first 2 days we had together in bed, sick, and sleeping. On occasion he would wake me to ask a question, once to offer me a sandwich he purchased for me at the local market store, a few times just to see if I was still living. He was very kind and gracious and carried himself in a much softer, quieter, more gentle position than his son. As opposed to the idea that he may find me lazy, he encouraged me to rest. "Rest is different than laziness."
Once I could stand mid-week, I had a quest to prepare a dress for a concert in the evening. He compared my methods of sitting cross-legged on the new Persian rug he brought for us, cutting fabric apart and stitching it together, to his own relatives and ancestors who apparently did "precisely the same." He give me a few tips to a successful completion, tips that turned quite valuable in the end. He said my dress was "beautiful" and looked "pretty" on me specifically. He said I did well.
Then he acted as gentle father and questioned a boy that came to accompany myself and a friend to a concert mid-week.
He proceeded the next day to discuss relationships with me, asking me how the youth of our generation and culture perhaps differed from the youth and generation of his own. We contemplated over how very different boys are from girls, and how they both must take care of their hearts, and not give in to merely picking a spouse because they have "a good body" or are caught up in youthful physical romance. He reflected on his wife being beautiful outside and INSIDE "which is the fact that matters the most."
Ali was very gentle. While he got much done around the house (he's a go-getter) and while on occasion he had a very challenging (nearly overwhelming) speech to give me about achievement in my career and in my education, he was gentle and caring and displayed deep love for his son, for God, and for serving. Ali was gracious, he allowed an unsettling temperament not to disturb him, for in due time that lesson will be learned. Ali was good. I enjoyed his sweet presence in my home. I felt like a little girl with her father near, taking care of her home and encouraging her with his words of wisdom.
At the end of it all, he hugged me tightly and kissed both my cheeks. He told me I was wonderful and he was thankful to meet me and thankful that I was in his son's home. He even said he loved me. Then he left. And now he's gone. My home is my own again, with Ali's rugs on my floor and words in my heart.
