In Loving Tribute to My Lebanese Father; Omar Salaheddine

...Through the Eyes & Heart of His First-Born Baby; Fatina

 

My precious and most handsome Baba; Omar Salaheddine, passed away on January 7^th, 2020.  He was born in Ras Beirut, Lebanon in my favorite Season of Autumn (on October 14, 1940).  Hailing from a big ten-member ‘Ras Beiruti Family’ he was the First-Born of his siblings. (My Father’s mother; my ‘Teta’ married very young into the Salaheddine Family - originally born in the small coastal city of Saida, Lebanon – from the well-known bayt El Baba Family).  

My Father (with his Elvis Presley good-looks & charm), was lucky to have enjoyed growing-up in beautiful Beirut, at a time, during the ‘Ee2yam El A3z’ Era (the Treasured Era).  During this prosperous, classy & ‘tres chic’ period, the Capital City of Lebanon was also known as the ‘Paris of the Middle East’ where it was standard to see the latest Fashions from the top designers on the Paris Runways appear ‘next day’ & available in the Beirut Shops & Boutiques.  As a young man, my Father proudly worked in the Ticketing Office of Lebanon’s National Airline; MEA (Middle East Airlines).  Where his love for travel grew as he experienced seeing the world in countless trips across the Beirut Sky.  In 1975 my Father married & immigrated to Akron, Ohio USA – where he spent his life growing a family of his own & building a life as a successful Businessman.  ‘Family First’ was his life-long motto, in everything that my Father did.  And that included a simple dream; to save & own a home & fill it with love & family.  …And to own & drive a Cadillac! The ultimate ‘American Dream’ for any Lebanese at that time, of which my Dad proudly accomplished, impressively in just a few years after settling into Ohio & calling it his ‘home’.  And until the day my Father passed away, he still owned & drove a Cadillac (staying ‘loyal until the end’, throughout his ‘NEW’ American life in Ohio, to the Cadillac Automobile Brand).

As his First-Born, it is immensely hard to deal with losing my Baba. So much love & a tremendous amount of treasured childhood memories have taken over my heart & thoughts, since my Father’s Passing.  At a time when it wasn’t so popular for a Father to be inside the Labor & Delivery Room – My Baba Omar was the first human being to lay eyes on me & hold me, as I took my first breaths coming into this world, in the Labor Room at Akron General Hospital.  And as each Birthday of mine arrived, my Baba always reminisced to me, with joyful tears in his eyes, how happy of a feeling I gave him, when he held me – as I was his First-Born child. Lovingly, he would express how I inherited his thick dark shiny black hair. Because he recalled the nurses kept exclaiming how ‘they’ve never seen a baby born with so much thick hair on her head’!  My Father so enjoyed giving me my bottle as a baby.  And used to relish in the fact that when I would be crying non-stop for hours, that ONLY HE could comfort me – when he’d come home & cradle me in his arms until I fell fast asleep. (True story. My Baba had those ‘magic arms’ for me).  And he LOVED the fact that I was a girl. I was ‘Daddy’s Girl’.  And judging from all my baby photos that show me wearing an array of gold ‘baby jewelry’ – I was undeniably Baba’s ‘Lebanese Baby Doll’. Starting with my ear piercings I got before I even became a 1-year old. It seemed Baba enjoyed adorning me with intricate tiny gold earrings, plaque bracelets (with my name engraved in Arabic on them), cute baby rings & delicate chains & necklaces. Baba even got me my first ‘Little Girl’s watch’ - a red leather strapped ‘Minnie Mouse’ watch (that told time with her hands as they went around the face of the watch).  Yes, I believe it would be true to say that I was most definitely, & without a doubt ‘Daddy’s Girl’.

And every year, on my March 13^th Birthday, it was a morning ritual with my Baba (as he sat at the kitchen table, drinking his Arabic-Turkish Coffee) to listen to him reminisce cute stories of me as a baby.  He had such a big smile & a twinkle in his eyes, in telling me how much Pampers & Similac infant formula he would buy & stock-up for me. Or how adorable I was as a toddler that had my mini-tantrums waiting for my pizza to arrive, as I sat in the highchair, in the food court of Akron’s Rolling Acres Mall. According to my Father, I would look at all the waiters just passing by our table & with incredible ‘baby frustration’, because I was SO hungry – would yell out ‘Pizza, Pizza’! (with my hands up in the air).  Another story was how he used to playfully leave me his gentle teeth marks (light bite marks on my arms – to represent a watch), telling me how soon he would be back home from work. I would then turn-on my ‘full drama’ & stand in front of the entrance doorway to block the door in protest! Not wanting my Baba to leave for work! I would give my Baba my hands & he would keep kissing them, until I released them from the door knob, to let him finally get through.  And another favorite memory that my Father liked to tell me annually, was what a smart toddler I was in memorizing all the Capitals of the World’s Countries, that he diligently taught me.  My Father would put me on his lap, & say to me; ‘Fatina Baba, chu A3ssmit Lubnan?’  (English translation = My daughter, tell me, what is the Capital of Lebanon?’)  …And I would say ‘BEYROOOOOOOT’!

My Baba’s favorite flower was the creamy, breezy, sweet-smelling Gardenia. That he grew-up enjoying in his home Gardens in Ras Beirut. And his favorite color was Burgundy and/or Maroon (a dark reddish, brownish crimson color, that takes its name from the French word; marron, or chestnut). I never thought about it until now, but it’s funny that my Dad never wore or even owned a pair of jeans in his life, because he didn’t like the feel of their texture on his skin. His favorite fabrics to wear, that had to be intertwined in his everyday Jackets; were Chamois (in English = Suede Fabric) interwoven with a dark brown Leather. I just adored seeing my Baba clothed in his familiar Jackets, Pants, Jogging Suits & even PJ’s at home and throughout his daily routines in his life.  I never knew how much his favorite colors and fabrics would mean so much to me now, that he’s gone.  In my Grieving Process, I have found myself wearing my Dad’s preferred colors. It gives me a sense of closeness to him, in his absence. (A feeling of being wrapped in a big huge warm ‘hug’ all day, from my Baba).

In reminiscing my Father, I will always feel his immensely big strong (always very warm) hands, holding mine, while walking me into the St. Mary’s School building in the mornings. My Baba even took me to my first day of school as a Kindergartener. I remember holding a thin rolled-up Labne’ Pita Bread Sandwich (Labne’ is a light, sour cheese spread, that has a little thicker-than-yogurt texture. A favorite staple in the Lebanese Breakfast cuisine).  I recall how I happily joined my fellow little classmates as to where to sit, under the direction of my teachers.  As my darling Father just stood there in front of me, inside the school building’s entrance way, ready to take me back home if I wanted to leave. I could swear he had tears in his eyes looking at me in my new school uniform, as I waved at him Goodbye. My heart smiles now, as I recall the teachers; Mrs. Lees & Mrs. Connelly, telling him gently ‘Fatina is in good hands Mr. Salaheddine, you can leave her here now, in our care. This is a BIG DAY.  It is Fatina’s 1^st Day of School.  You’ll both never forget this moment’.  (And years later as I am tearfully writing this Tribute, I have to say – my teachers were both SO RIGHT).    

My Father had such old-school Business Ethics. He never relied on or used a calculator.  He always did the Math in his head. Or he would just use a pad of paper and a pencil – when he would be adding up Accounting numbers for his Businesses. Over the years, I remember seeing countless times tables, multiplication rows and additions, in long lists on his pads of paper, on the table.  Basically, my Baba kept himself smart & self-reliant. Even when giving ‘Directions’, my Dad would draw out a map for you from memory, that included all the street signs and the names of buildings and exits to watch out for. (Again, all from his incredible memory). And if I could state ‘Baba’s Golden Rules in Business’, that he exemplified throughout his life, they simply were:

1.      To only buy things that you have the money for. Not on credit.

2.      Save more than you spend, of your hard-earned money.

3.      Don’t borrow unless it is a must.

4.      If in the case you do get a loan, make sure to pay it back faster than the set-up payments.

5.      And to pay for everything using cash. (As my Dad detested Credit Cards and all their fees & interest, that never fail to pile up).

As a little girl, I loved accompanying my Father for his daily stops at the Bank, after school. And was grateful to hold-on tight to his big thick fingers, during all of my dreaded child-hood Dentist Appointments.  Even for all the School Field Trips, my Baba would drop everything from his busy schedule, in order to sign-up to be a ‘Driver’, because he was always worried about my safety in not wanting me to get into a stranger’s car.  I can remember countless times, how my father and I used to ‘feed the Ducks’, during school field trips at the ‘Akron Zoo’ or the ‘Seiberling Nature Center’ and at our beloved ‘Sea World Marine Park Ohio’.  Or even when he would spot them quacking away near our home - Baba used to bring bags of American white bread & we would feed the Ducks together.  He had such a love for animals, my Dad.  And animals so loved him too. And I know that I inherited that special feeling as well, for our fury little friends.

Just wrapping my arms around my Father’s neck as a child, & kissing his cheeks, used to make me feel I had the world in my hands.  I remember always whispering something that I wanted, in my Baba’s ear (usually McDonald’s if we were in the car) & he would lovingly laugh & tease me out-loud & say; ‘Meen Beddo McDonno?’ (English Translation = who is the little one that is asking for McDonald’s?  My God, I can still hear my Dad’s special way in pronouncing the Golden Arches as; Mc-DONN-NO).  Immediately, we’d be in the drive-through, ready to give them my order. And my Baba always knew to tell them, how much I loved ‘extra extra fries please!’

Forever emblazoned in my memory is my Baba’s huge & merry laugh. I loved his laugh.  It would fill the entire house. And because he was always at work (due to his incredibly strong work-ethic, in never taking a day off), he especially enjoyed having big Sunday (3-hour plus) Family lunches. Where he would thoroughly enjoy his favorite & very Lebanese ‘Arak drink’ (Lebanese Arak is a distilled smooth spirit, made from the green anise seed. Equivalent to the taste of Ouzo & Sambuca). Baba always made sure to include even the youngest child at the table, with a small sip of Arak too – so that all is included in the ‘Family Toasting’ to good health. (My Baba used to joke, that I was weaned on his beloved Arak drink, since I was a toddler, because he used to slip Arak in my Bottle, as I sat on his lap. Wink-wink).  

The love of my Father’s life was the Lebanese Icon Singer; Sabah. (He used to teasingly say, that in between the Lebanese Icon’s seven marriages, (yes indeed, Sabah married 7 times in her lifetime) that he was going to marry her too, one day!  “She hasn’t married an ‘Omar’ yet!” is what he would say out-loud in the house, over the years.  My Baba used to put his beloved Sabah music on constantly in his car & throughout the house, when he was home. Making her voice echo in our Indoor Swimming Pool as if she was right there, singing solo just for my Baba.  And when my Dad was enjoying himself tending his Gardens, he liked to listen to Sabah, blasting her songs through the speakers of our backyard Gazebo, Basketball & Tennis Courts too.  Oh, how my Father would clap & sing along with her, and talk about his memories growing up in beautiful Lebanon. (I can still remember as a little girl, seeing boxes & boxes of Sabah music on my Baba’s 8-track tapes & cartridges. Remember those huge tapes?  He had multiple collections from Sabah’s ‘live’ parties & studio recordings, that he had brought with him from Beirut).  Sabah genuinely brought my Father so much joy! (And I could always relate to this incredible feeling, because this is what my own favorite singer ‘Warda’ gives me too. So much joy!)   

I am forever indebted to God, that I was able to connect the beloved Lebanese Icon singer ‘Sabah’, to call & speak to her ‘#1 Fan in the world; Omar Salaheddine’ on the phone, one sunny afternoon in Ohio.  (After meeting her in a trip in Beirut, I felt that it should’ve been my Dad meeting her, because she truly meant so much to him).  Oh my God, was my Baba speechless & beyond happy to talk & tell Sabah how much he loved her & her songs!  And what she meant to him & for Lebanese all over the world that had to leave beautiful Lebanon because of the civil war. (Yinzakarr wa’ ma’ yin’a3d, Ya Rab.  An Arabic saying; May the civil war be only remembered & never repeated). The singer; Sabah embodied ‘LEBANON’ to my Father.  Sabah represented his beautiful homeland & culture, music & the Lebanese people that savored life.

It is overwhelming how all the beautiful childhood memories come flooding to the forefront, when a child loses their Father.  I remember my ‘larger than life’ Birthday Parties – packed with presents, friends, candy, huge bags of every potato chip flavor ever made (or as my Baba uniquely called them; Potato SHIPS), an endless Buffet of Lebanese Food & Strawberry Shortcake Cakes & my favorite; Gâteau au chocolat et à la crème Glacée (chocolate ice-cream layered-cake) from the Bakery that my Dad would pick-up early, on the day of the party. My Father even hired Belly dancers for fun entertainment each year.  He was ‘Beiruti’ to the core, my Father – as he absolutely loved the Middle Eastern, Oriental Dance (& not so much the traditional ‘Dabke’ folklore dances. As he always made it a funny point to me that “This style of dance is traditionally danced in the villages of Lebanon. ‘True Beirutis’ don’t know how to Dabke”).  Baba always made ‘being Lebanese’ as opposed to just ‘plain American’ as being ‘special & cool’.  His favorite line, that I always heard him say was ‘Na7hna Libnaneeye’! = We are Lebanese!’

And speaking of ‘being Lebanese’ – my God, how my Father enjoyed making & smoking his own Argeele’ (what the Egyptians call; the Shisha Pipe) using only the original rich tobacco flavors; A3jame’ & M’a3ssal (honey-flavored). I used to LOVE the smell of the rich tobacco fragrance that filled the entire house. I could feel how happy my Dad would get – when I would stand next to him excitedly wanting to be ‘Baba’s little expert helper’ in testing the water-pipe for him (or atleast attempting to inhale & see all the bubbles in the water-stand gurgle up, making the ‘balanced sound’ for the ultimate smoking enjoyment). Baba always had such a ‘joyous energy’ smoking his Argeele’.   Images of him placing the small hot coals (over the tobacco molds, using the little tongs), & then inhaling deeply all the delicious Argeele’ flavor – are forever engraved in my memory. 

On occasion, my Baba would bring up his teenage fun times growing up in Beirut, that always seemed to involve his beloved Argeele’ and his Sporty first car; the Opel.  And in that Opel’s Trunk – my Dad would laugh out loud in reminiscing, ‘was an instant party, just waiting to happen’!  Because he always packed it ‘Ready-to-go’ with his Argeele’ and Dirrbeke (Arabic drums), to be enjoyed when he and his friends would get together for fun times. (Oh Baba, no one like you!  No one!) Especially at the thought of my Baba’s ‘Signature Driving Style’!  Ever since I could remember, he’d have his right arm steering the wheel and his left arm ALWAYS outside the open window, (his elbow resting on the door & his arm & hand in the ‘up position’, like he’s gripping the vehicle’s top).  In the hot Summer days, it became normal for my Dad’s entire left arm to be nice & tanned and his other arm, white as snow (as my Dad was very light olive-skinned, & burned & peeled easily).     

And speaking of childhood memories; each time I hear the familiar music of the ‘Ice-Cream Truck’ roll by in the neighborhoods, my mind will forever hold such treasured thoughts of me running to my Baba for money (before the Ice-Cream Truck leaves)!  And how he used to reach down into his pant pockets & weigh my little hands down, because of how much he filled them with quarters!  (Fully aware & knowing that the popsicles were only 10 cents at most, at that time).  Baba, you always gave me more than enough (ALWAYS) to buy popsicles and cones for me, the siblings and all my neighborhood friends – that stood circles around me, because they loved & knew my generous Father was going to treat them too!  I can still see the happy smiles & hear my friends and their little siblings tell me, as we sat enjoying our goodies in the grass, in the backyards; ‘your Dad is the BEST! Yummy, I love my rainbow popsicle’!  

I remember I asked my Baba for a typewriter one day, so that I could feel ‘like an adult & be able to type my stories like a professional writer’.  I think I was eight years old at the time. A pen & notepad just wouldn’t do anymore, as my imagination wanted a typewriter so that I could really express myself like an adult. (I guess, wanting a typewriter as a child, foretold my future Profession to be a Writer & Publisher of a Newspaper someday)?  Anyhow, before I knew it, a big vintage typewriter showed-up in my Bedroom - & oh the many happy hours I spent with it. Although I recall the ink roll kept frustratingly getting on my fingers as I played ‘office & secretary’ with the younger siblings at times.  And punching down hard with my little fingers at each letter to type on the white slip of paper was certainly a process. But my wishes, as always, were my Baba’s command.

Then there’s the memories of my Dad playing the Lotto. It was such a fun family activity, when Baba used to bring home Lottery Cards for everyone to fill out, with their choice of numbers – in hopes of ‘winning it big for the family’!  I always wished you would ‘Win it Big’ Baba, you so deserved it. I’ve always internally thought about ‘how brave’ you were to cross oceans & come to the United States as a young man. A newly-wed, and start from zero.  To arrive to a new land, with a new language, a new culture, & to work seven days a week (no days off) all your life & build a family of your own – all while being so far away from your own parents & siblings & roots in Beirut Lebanon. It is amazing what you came to America & accomplished Baba. You were so selfless – always providing for the family & helping any friend that came to you needing help. I am beyond proud that I am your daughter and can tell the world about my Baba Omar & his incredible life that he built - purely through hard work & dedication to his family. My Baba always had my heartstrings when he would say; ‘anna la mien a3m’bishtoghl kil l’yom? Ma’ la ilkon ya Baba. Kilo la a2jjilkon ya Bayyi’.  (Translated = For what am I working non-stop for, each day of my life?  It is all for you, my children. All for you).

Another childhood memory that seems to have made its way back to my mind, is just how ‘Emotionally Protective’ my Father was. I recall I injured my finger on my right hand (during a St. Mary’s School Awards trip) at a Bowling Alley. An extremely heavy bowling ball excruciatingly came smashing down on my fragile little 3^rd grade hand.  I will never ever forget the look on my Father’s face as I lifted my bloody hand up to him, in screaming pain. (His face went completely white as a ghost).  He picked me up off the floor & cradled me in his big strong arms, & before I knew it, we were in the emergency room at the hospital!  I remember I was wrapped in my Baba’s arms with continuous kisses, THE ENTIRE TIME we were at the hospital.  He had tears in his kind gentle eyes, as he was looking at me with incredible worry. Honestly, I felt like my Dad was in just as much pain as me – as I sat in his lap, and the doctors sowed my little finger back-up & reluctantly put my arm in a cast so that the shattered bone could heal untouched. (It is funny too, to think back now, how my Dad had my whole little head tucked under his arm pit with my eyes squeezed-shut, so that I wouldn’t be traumatized seeing the bloody mess being sowed-up in the doctor’s hands).  Needless to say, that that was my Father & I’s first and last time ever stepping again into a Bowling Alley!

Food to my Father, was a very important pleasure to be enjoyed in life. As it linked him continually with his beloved Beirut & his Lebanese culture. It is engraved in me forever, everytime I sit to eat at the kitchen table, that there MUST BE ‘Zeytoon Akhdar’ (Green Olives) & Pita Bread at the table, or else ‘it isn’t a Lebanese Table!’ as my Baba has always said.  In fact, my Father refused to put his first bite in his mouth, if his beloved Green Olives were not present on the table at home. Then there was his love of eating pure honey (still in its honey-comb) & every Arabic & Greek cheese ever made.  And eating Fried Eggs, sunny-side-up (Beiruti style, with a sprinkle of cinnamon on them) scooped-up & eaten with his all-wheat Pita Bread. My Father had ‘lips of steel’ that only enjoyed eating & drinking his hot soups, sauces, & cups of tea, piping hot! To the point where one could see the soup bubbling & my Dad’s incredibly happy face, enjoying each spoonful he was eating.  There was also my Baba’s love for sprinkling salt on his food - & lots of it!  Especially when eating his beloved Lebanese Cuisine.  He & I both share in the love of ‘Tabukh el Bayt’ = Homemade Lebanese Cooking.  That usually involves delicious homestyle Lebanese Rice (with the fried sha3reeye’ or Vermicelli thin brown noodles), eaten along with a pot of cooked veggies in the authentic Lebanese 7-All-Spice mix & distinctive delicious sauces. Or from the plethora of baked ‘Unique to Lebanon’ dishes, involving the various meats, chicken, potatoes and zucchini, eggplant, or grape-leaves that are stuffed & cooked to Lebanese perfection.

My Baba Omar also loved drinking very tall glasses of steamed milk at night. As a child, I used to watch with fascination, as he poured milk into a sauce pan & heated it until the milk turned frothy & steamed - to then enjoy it in a glass. And at times he’d accompany his hot milk, munching on Ka’a3k (a dry breadstick/ toast covered with roasted sesame seeds & flavored with a Lebanese spice called; mahlab).  I mean, who drinks old-fashioned steamed milk anymore? Watching my Baba drinking his steamed milk, was like watching a scene from a classic children’s Disney movie, honestly. He even drank his Lipton Tea with hot milk & sugar.  Combined with his daily devotion to enjoying home-made Laban (Lebanese Yogurt).  And his love for Bread, makes me internally smile, just thinking about it.  MY BABA ATE BREAD WITH EVERYTHING! Oven-Baked Bread, French Baguettes, Pita Bread, Khibiz Mar’oo2k, American sliced Bread, Bagels, Toast, Italian-style Bread Loafs, Croissants, Fluffy Bread Rolls – you name it.  If he could, he would’ve eaten ‘Bread with Bread’!  Habibi Baba, he always said, ‘I don’t feel full, unless I eat my food with Bread’.

Looking back though, I’d have to say that my Father’s only ‘American food item’ that he really enjoyed eating was ‘Crispy Fried Chicken’.  He even had his own unique way (in a French-sounding accent) of pronouncing it too, as ‘Friy-Shikken’.  (And I’d say after DECADES of immigrating & living in Ohio– and having just one American favorite food, besides his beloved Lebanese Cuisine – is such a proven point to the saying ‘You can take a Man out of Lebanon, but you can never take Lebanon out of a Man’).  My Baba just loved his Lebanese Food!   

And speaking of food; I am one-in-the-same with my Father, in our love for the Lebanese Salad; Tabouli (diced juicy tomatoes, finely chopped parsley, finely chopped onion, fresh lemon juice, olive oil, dash of bulgar wheat - & salt, dried mint, cinnamon, red pepper to taste). We’ll eat it freshly made or a few days old in the fridge –it doesn’t matter, we’ll eat it happily anytime we see it.   And we both share an addiction to Fruit, especially Watermelon. The image of my Dad sitting at the kitchen table peeling, slicing & preparing Cantaloupe Melons & Watermelons onto dishes, to place in the fridge for all to eat, is emblazoned in my heart forever. He would call out to me; ‘Baba, tye bill-le’ ree’i2k’ = ‘My daughter, come savor this bite’ with a piece of Watermelon in his hand, ready to put in my mouth.

Then there’s so many memories of my Dad taking me & the siblings to nearby Farms & the Amish Country – to experience picking fresh strawberries, tomatoes & apples. And as we helped my Dad fill huge bags with our fresh pickings – Baba would reminisce to us how much he & his own siblings (along with his beloved childhood dog ‘Roxy’ playing happily by his side) used to enjoy picking & eating from all the Lemon, Orange & Bala7h Fruit Trees (Dates from Palm Trees) along the Birke’ or water fountain, in the Gardens of his childhood home in Ras Beirut.  He always used to say out loud ‘how delicious fresh fruit tastes, when picked by your own hands. Including freshly-squeezed Juice. Fresh Fruit is so much tastier than from a bag bought at the grocery store’.  He would say it in Arabic; ‘El nak’7ha ghair’!  (Baba even had his own special way of pronouncing Orange Juice – that until eternity, I will hear his voice in my head, saying; O’rren-joos). 

My Baba’s preferred soft drink was 7up. And our fridge always had to have cans of 7up stashed somewhere in the shelves or in the drawers. Not only because it was my Dad’s favorite soda – but also because the Lebanese Culture somehow insists that this Soda be the ‘one for all medication’ if anyone in the house has a stomach ache or doesn’t feel well.  That somehow drinking 7up was ‘the answer’ for an upset stomach. (And in the case that the 7up didn’t work – & you still felt ill, after drinking the entire can - then it would be the time to call the doctor)!  

In fully describing my Father, I have to illustrate his immense ‘sweet tooth’ for Arabic Sweets.  He passionately enjoyed all forms of nut-stuffed Baklava, Borma, Ma’Moul stuffed with dates or figs, Syrup-soaked Harisse’, Sfoof Cake, Barrazek Cookies, & always seemed to have a bag of those addictive chewy and very crunchy Sesame Seed Hard Candies around him.  Baba loved his ‘Riz B’h7aleeb’ (Rice Pudding) & Mu7hallabeeye’ (Arabic milky pudding).  And he loved any Arabic Dessert made with a form of sweet-cheese filling & eaten with a sugary syrup poured on top, called; U2trr - such as; Atayiff, Halawet el Jibn, Znoud El Sit, Knafeh & Warbat bil U2shta (Baked filo dough triangles, filled with a thick milk pudding).  I especially shared a favorite sweet with my Father; the Arabic creamy dessert filling called; ‘U2shta’ – (eaten Beiruti style, with powdered pistachio & honey drizzled on it).  And a most unusual eating habit that I inherited from my Baba – and that is; eating late at night & going happily straight to bed with a very full tummy. Not the healthiest of habits, but boy do I sleep satisfied like a happily stuffed baby. And I am sure that my Father felt the same way, all his life too.

And speaking of Baba’s love for Arabic Desserts & Sweets. It was during my Grandparents’ visit to America from Beirut one Summer – that I recall my Dad’s mother, my ‘Teta’ (who hails from the El Baba Family, known for their famous sweets in Saida Lebanon), making one of my Father’s homemade favorites; ‘Pumpkin Preserves’.  (I had to have been nine years old at the time).  I remember how my Teta put all these huge chunks of peeled and sliced raw pumpkin into large basins on our kitchen table.  And to my amazement, Teta soaked them in ‘Kilis’ (a white cement powder) for hours, as part of the Pumpkin ‘firmness’ preparation process.  And Oh My God, when the Pumpkin Preserves were finally ready to devour - they were scrumptious!  The look of appreciation & euphoria in each bite my Baba was putting in his mouth – I swear to God, I will never forget.  Nothing like his mother’s special recipe, to warm his big generous heart that missed her constantly, due to her living so far away from him in Beirut.

In writing this Tribute to my Baba – I smile internally, realizing yet another intrinsic trait that I inherited from my Father – that we were both born with immensely watery eyes.  Since I was a little girl, everyone around me would always say ‘Mitel Miyt il H7anafeeye’ wa Kair’jeh’!’ (English Translation = if you make either Omar or his daughter Fatina laugh, it is like turning on a water faucet!)  Lots of uncontrollable tears start flowing out of their eyes!’  And now that my Baba has Departed, the thought of continually having to deal with my watery eyes, (always searching for water-proof eye makeup) doesn’t bother me so much anymore. Because from now on (whether in sadness or in laughter), Omar and his gentle, kind, light-brown eyes, will continually be a part of me.  And the overflow of my tears will be my Baba reminding me, how much I am eternally a part of him.

And as every miserable cold Winter Season arrives, I will think to how both my Father & I were always ‘one-in-the-same’ in setting the Heat up on (roasting) ‘High’ in the car or in the house. As my Dad & I were both in-love with heat & absolutely despised the cold.  From now on, every time I step outside in the chilly cold Winter Season Snow, the funny memories of how my Dad used to bundle me & the siblings up like ‘little mummies’ in the mornings, before school – will warm my sad heart, in missing him so much.  It was only because I detested the cold, that I never complained, (as Baba used to pile on & wrap atleast 3-4 layers of shawls, hats, gloves, mittens and sweaters on me, underneath the already heavy winter coat or anorak).  I laugh now in missing his voice telling me ‘id-daffee n’mee7h Baba, min-sheyn ma’ takhdi ba’rrid’! (English Translation = ‘cover up well, my daughter, so you don’t catch a cold’)!  I remember when I would arrive to school, and my teacher literally would have to help peel all the layers off me, as I couldn’t breathe or see underneath it all. (Oh Baba, how I will miss you & your overwhelming concern for me to keep warm!)

Learning to speak the Arabic language fluently at home, as a child was very important to my Father.  But I have to say, I didn’t enjoy my Dad’s daily dose of ‘tough love’ - with his constant reminders to switch from English & only speak Arabic, when I would arrive home after school.  If my Baba would hear me or my siblings at home, conversing with each other in English, Baba Omar would begin his furious exclamations in the air; ‘A3rabeh!  A27hko A3rabeh. Na7hna Libnaneeye’.  Chu bedoon y’oo2loo bookra a3nkon b’Libnan?’ (English Translation = ‘Speak Arabic! We are Lebanese. Do you want the Lebanese family in Lebanon to make fun of you’)?  Being the First-Born, A LOT of attention was poured onto me, so that I correctly speak the Lebanese language fluently and with no accent. French was part of my misery as well.  (The Goal was for me to speak Lebanese, as if I was born and raised in Beirut like my Father).  Sometimes, when one of the siblings would incorrectly attempt to say something in Arabic, my Dad would teasingly say ‘Haj ta7hki mit’lil A2rr’men’. I2rr’ja3 Ee3yda lal jimmle’ Baba’.  (English Translation = ‘Stop speaking like the Armenians. Repeat the phrase again. This time correctly, my child’).  Honestly, I never understood the Armenian correlation as a child, but when I grew-up, I learned of the huge Armenian population in Lebanon and that in their language it is difficult at times to translate Armenian nouns & pronouns when switching to Arabic. It translates to the opposite.  And so, the Lebanese, used to tease their fellow Armenians if they got their nouns mixed-up when switching to the Arab language.  Looking back now as an adult, I realize the value of being Bi-lingual & Tri-lingual - & what my Father was instilling in me as a child.  It is because of my Father’s diligence and ‘tough love’ at home, that I can speak & converse in Arabic so fluently today – (and with a perfect Beiruti Accent, if I may so add).

Speaking of the importance that my Father placed, in that I learned & excelled in the rich Arabic Language – he also used to bring home Egyptian Movies on VHS tapes, weekly, for the family to watch & enjoy.  He rented movies, up until the Arabic Satellite Dish became available in the U.S., (that then aired hundreds of Arabic channels directly from the Middle East). But before the Dish Satellite arrived onto the scene, Baba would rent Egyptian Classic Movies from the local Arabic Bakery. (As Egypt has always been known as the ‘Hollywood of the Arab World’- & its movies & actors such as ‘Omar Sharif’ was ‘THE Entertainment’ enjoyed by the Lebanese in Lebanon). And so, thanks to my Father Omar, I learned to understand & speak the Egyptian dialect growing up in Akron Ohio, very well too. And at the same time, was educated in the vast culture of the Egyptians, through watching their movies.

My Baba was always so crafty with his hands.  Besides Gardening, he amazingly knew how to use a Sewing Machine. I recall once asking him if I could try too, looking up at him, as he sat at the kitchen table (I was maybe six). I remember seeing a few Loofahs (all-natural shower accessories used for cleaning & exfoliating the skin) on the table, with some fabric. So maybe my Dad was sowing together something for him to use during his showers?  (As he did grow-up in Lebanon using Loofahs & kept his ‘Loofah Habit’ all his life in Ohio too).  Anyhow, Baba sat me on his lap & carefully instructed me to keep my hands near the seam as he pressed lightly on the machine’s foot peddle, to make it go… & VOILA!  Daddy & I made something out of the fabric. 

Now that I think back to this sewing machine, I am reminded of a very dear friend of my Dad’s.  He was an old Italian Tailor named Luige (pronounced Loui-G). I laugh thinking back, how when my Dad used to visit Luige in his shop (located inside the Rolling Acres Mall). He would bring Arabic-Turkish Coffee in a big red Coffee Mug-Thermos, for the both of them to enjoy, as they sat together. What makes me laugh is thinking how in the world did these two men even communicate with each other?  Because Luige didn’t speak a lick of English – only Sicilian. And somehow my Dad (who spoke three languages; Arabic, English & French) with his love of friendship & ‘the old country’ talk - formed a beautiful bond for many many years.  Consisting mostly of sitting together, laughing & using A LOT of hand motions to explain what they’re trying to convey to each other!  I even recall once seeing my Baba & Luige play a round of my Father’s favorite Lebanese Game called; ‘Tawleh’ (which is a Board Game known in the West as ‘Backgammon’.  Played on a board with two rows of 12 vertical markings called ‘points.’ Players roll dice to determine the movement of pieces).   But as I go down memory lane with my Baba’s Life… I think his ‘bond of friendship’ with Luige was truly sealed, during the time my Father brought his Father (my Jido) to get some specially tailored clothes done by the hands of his talented Italian friend; Luige.  It was during my Grandparents’ visit to America from Beirut one year. I can still remember my huge ‘Jido’ (Grandpa) getting sized-up & measured for his new clothes, by the expertise Italian Tailors and feeling the enormous love in the room between my Baba & his Baba.  Even at such a young age, I could feel the massive ‘family bond’ & see how much my Father was so caring & protective of his Father.  (I’ve often thought how unfortunate & sad, that due to the Lebanese civil war, my Father was forced to live oceans apart from his own parents & siblings, for most of his life). 

My handsome Father Omar and I, also shared a love of ‘Prayer Beads’.  My collection of Rosaries started as a child at St. Mary’s Private Catholic Grade School, where I learned to use them as I prayed & meditated at morning Mass & in our Religion Classes - & the habit stayed with me all my life in using Prayer Beads while I’m in deep thought. My collection even includes a special blessed Rosary in its own Personalized Case, from Lourdes (whose chain turned gold.  Catholics may know the meaning of this incredibly religious sign, of when a silver chain on a Rosary turns to gold.)  In Arabic, a Rosary is called a; Massab’7ha.  And my Father collected them all his life too.  Never did he leave the house without one, when attending any important function or event.  I always remember watching my Dad in his handsome suit & tie (especially his beloved white suits) at home, & taking-in his favorite classic scent that he would spray on lightly; Paco Rabanne, (that I happily kept him fully-stocked with, bringing him boxes of it, every time I had a trip to my favorite city of London).  I also recall admiring a million times, his Prayer Beads in their cases that he kept in his top dresser drawer in his bedroom.  Several of them I personally gifted my Baba – from the Holy City of Mecca & many bought during my trips at invited Forums & Conferences in the Middle East, in Beirut and from Istanbul Turkey. I will always love the fact that my Father & I shared this special passion for ‘Prayer Beads’.

Baba, you were so good to me. So very very good to me.  As long as I brought you my straight A’s on my Report Card, as a child, I felt the world was my oyster & I could ask you for anything. From my first pair of white Roller Skates, to my first Bike, that you took me to the store hand-in-hand & bought for me, (that had to have the white & pink matching Basket that went on the front of the bike). Up to when you taught me how to drive (practicing with you sitting in the Passenger Seat, in the Parking Lot of one of your buildings). To one of the happiest days in a 16-year old’s life - when you drove me to Fairlawn’s BMV, to go take my Driver’s License Test. I will never forget walking out with you, excitedly having passed the test & been given my 1^st Driver’s License in my hand. You even taught me how to write my first check, using your personal checkbook. Which I clearly remember, that we wrote together a donation to my favorite Charity (founded by a Lebanese-American); St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. Baba you were pure love. Every daughter’s ‘Dream Daddy’.

And when I was still only a Junior, at Copley-Fairlawn High School & got elected as my Senior Class President (as well as earned a scholarship that required me to attend University of Akron College Classes - leaving on certain days from high school to attend University) – you bought me my dream car.  My candy-apple red Pontiac Firebird Sports Car (with the ‘must-have’ flip-open lights in the front).  I know that I thanked you & kissed you constantly for my car – but Baba you truly were the BEST FATHER any child could ever ask for.  So many years later, and I still get butterflies just thinking how happy I was driving my red Pontiac Firebird sports car all around Fairlawn & Akron.  And picking up my friends and talking non-stop about you and how much I adored you & your big love for me.

I will forever remember how proud you were when I came home from University one day to tell you that my older College Classmates had elected me to lead them as their ‘Lebanese Club President’.  Your eyes were filled with pride.  You kept saying ‘my Doctora Fatina, President of her Class in high school and at the same time President of her Lebanese Club in college – Ya Hayk, Ya Bela’! (‘YA HAYK, YA BELA’ is an Arabic saying = BE EXCEPTIONAL LIKE THIS OR DON’T DO IT AT ALL).

And as a young adult, when I started to be recognized in my Publishing Profession, you used to save all my magazine interviews & place them folded in your back-pocket wallet. And every chance you got, would show & tell people ‘this is my daughter Fatina. My First-Born that I’m so proud of, look she’s in this magazine’!  And do you know how I know this Baba?  The nurses & doctors at our Family Medical Insurance; Kaiser Permanente would tell me, when I would get my regular medical check-ups. One by one, they would tell me ‘Oh Fatina, your Dad is SO PROUD of you! Your Father’s eyes well-up with tears, just talking about you & showing us all your magazine interviews’!   

My God, how much I love you Baba. This word we use, called ‘LOVE’, encompasses the Alpha and Omega, to my feelings for you.  Forever is the feeling of how LUCKY & BLESSED I am, that GOD CHOSE OMAR TO BE MY BABA.

Everytime I even touch a Piano Keyboard, my Father’s voice rings in my ears.  He and I loved music in all its forms – to sing it, to play it, to listen & to dance to it.  Any instrument that my Father & I picked-up, we seemed to know instinctively how to play it.  From the Arabic drums (= the Dirrbeke’), to the piano, the violin, the guitar, and even the flute.  Music always brought such joy to our hearts & always seemed to fill the entire house with such a happy presence. My Father loved to sing to me the famous Arabic tune ‘Aah ya Zein’ including its Intro Mo’wal; ‘Ya Lilly ya Layl’li ya Eyni Ya Layli, ya Layli….” (and he always sounded really really good)!  He even taught me how to play the few keys to this melody on the Professional Keyboard he bought me.  (My God, how much I will miss you & your deep voice; my one-&-only Baba Omar).

Thinking back to how protective my Father was, I remembered a very funny story about the first time a guy had the guts to call the house to speak to me. (I have to say though, that the story is funny now, but wasn’t so funny, when it happened).  I recall, I was just barely a teenager & it was a time before we all had cell phones. So basically, we only had the house phone number to deal with. I had been dining at the Tangiers Restaurant in Akron with friends on the occasion of a friend’s birthday celebration.  And there was this young nice guy, sitting with his own family dining in the restaurant that same evening.  He spotted me & came over to my table and introduced himself & his family. He was a University student and his parents were Jewelers from Syria. Later that evening he kept asking & asking for my phone number, when he saw that my friends and I were ready to leave. I recall how I felt so shy, because it was the first time that a guy asked me for my number.  And all I could see staring at me, was not the guy’s pleading face, but my Father’s face in my head actually.  I didn’t know if I was allowed to give the house number out.  Or what I should say to the guy? Or what I should do exactly, in this impromptu situation?  So, I decided to (what I thought was a smart way to not really give him my number, but leave the guy thinking he did).  I gave him only the first three numbers of the house number.  And told him that if he can figure out the last four digits, then he could call me. Then I left with my friends, thinking that ‘I was such a clever girl’!  Well, the next afternoon, the phone rings at the house and I just happened to pick it up downstairs, and to my astonishment – it was THE GUY.  I was not only frozen and I swear, stuttering to say hello, I could hear my Father (whom I thought was still upstairs) asking ‘who is it, on the phone’?  I didn’t even have the chance to reply to the guy, because all of a sudden my Father was standing behind me & pushed the speaker button to ‘On’ – just as the guy on the other end was saying; ‘I did not sleep ALL NIGHT looking and searching for your number in this very thick Ohio Phone Book!  Do you know how many phone calls I made, up until now, to the wrong people’s houses searching for you?’ 

Oh my God.  More like ‘Oh my Baba’… the look on my Father’s face, standing behind me hearing all that.  My Father realizing that his First-Born, his Baby, his Daughter - has a ‘full grown adult male’ calling the house to speak to her – I could see, was just too much for him, at that moment.  But surprisingly, my Dad in a very serious tone looked at me and said; ‘Ba3d Ma’ Fa’U2ssti Min El Byda. Sekkri El Telephone’ (English Translation = You still haven’t hatched from your egg, little one.  Hang-up the phone).  And that was that.  Obviously, the guy heard my Father (via the speaker) on the other line, and so there was no need for me to explain or (thankfully) do any further talking with him.

The first time that I had to go to London on my own, was a HUGE DEAL for my Father.  Knowing how afraid I was of flying – he drove the entire family with me, (to support their sister & bid me a proper ‘family farewell’) on the day of my flight from Cleveland Hopkins Airport.

As the entire family sat in the waiting area by the Boarding Gate, my Father talked his way – INTO GOING ALL THE WAY INSIDE – TO THE FRONT OF THE PLANE hand-in-hand with me, to speak with the Captain & Flight Attendants. He asked them to ‘please take extra special care of my First Born, because it’s her first time flying over the Atlantic WITHOUT ME.’ (I mean, what daughter in this world, can actually have a similar story to tell about her Father doing that for her on a commercial airplane flight?!  The answer is no other daughter.  I truly had a one-of-a-kind Father, that is for sure)!  I can still remember how worried he looked, because he knew how much I didn’t enjoy flying.  He kept kissing me & telling me some of his past MEA Flight experiences to calm my nerves down & reminded me how aviation is safer than driving cars.  (Least to say, I did make it safely to London & back home to Ohio, on that trip. And years later, after hundreds of domestic & international flights - I still cherish this memory of my Father holding my hand in the plane & with his deep calming voice, speaking with the Captain, as if it’s a ‘hug in the sky’ every time I’m in a flight. Especially when my journey includes flying over the Atlantic Ocean).

Part of the pain in accepting the fact that my Father is now forever ‘laid to rest’ (sleeping until Judgement Day arrives) is the knowledge that he didn’t require much sleep, during all his living life.  Barely 5 hours was his average each night. (Sometimes he’d take afternoon naps, on the occasions that he’d enjoyed a delicious heavy meal). In addition to being a very ‘light-sleeper’ – Baba was quick to wake-up if he heard a noise.  (Oh Baba, how I have wished that if I cried loud enough now, in missing you, that you would just ‘wake-up’ because you’re such a light sleeper - & come back to life!  My God, how I wish).

And with each year’s annual ‘Father’s Day’ Holiday (a day specifically set aside for honoring & celebrating our beloved Fathers), my many wonderful memories of my Dad taking the family out to eat, will engulf my entire being. Looking back, I could always tell from his sweet light brown eyes, how much he SO enjoyed reading his children’s cards, smelling his flower bouquets, opening his gifts, eating his crispy ‘Friy-Shikken’ & enjoying his cake & ice-cream, after he’d blown-out his candles. He just LOVED being a Father!  And truly enjoyed his ‘Special Day.’  His presence was always filled with so much laughter & joy. Because wherever my Baba was – one could hear his big laughter & feel the happy vibe that emanated from him.  Something that my Dad always used to say that will continually make my heart laugh at every Father’s Day to come – is when the family would be gathered at the Father’s Day table at the restaurant, my Dad would remark in a laughing hushed-voice; “Look & see around you. Shiffto keef on ‘MY DAY’ there’s no long lines for us customers to have to wait in, in order to be seated, like other Holidays?  Do you know why?  La a2no Noss Amerka B’nadee2! Ma Ma3rouf Meen Bay’yon”.  And I would reply to him, half-laughing at my Dad, ‘Babaaa please!’  (Even as I type this now, I am laughing, because I can hear my Father’s jolly voice & see his watery-eyes from laughing at his own annual remark, he would make at the table).  And so, for this painfully hard first ‘Father’s Day 2020’ (without my Dad being alive to enjoy his cake & blow-out his candles), I spent the day tearfully reminiscing his life & thanking God for choosing Omar to be MY Father.  I wished my Dad from my heart, a ‘Happy Father’s Day’ in heaven. And will continue to do so with each Father’s Day that comes to pass. I pray that the Angels in heaven surround my Dad, on his ‘Special Day’ each year & make him feel loved & cherished.  (And to throw-in a big chocolate cake with strawberries and a party for him too)! 

 

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*IT IS TO BE NOTED ABOUT MY FATHER OMAR & HIS BELOVED LEBANON; that although he adored his homeland & birth place of Ras Beirut, Lebanon – the awful war & destruction of his country in 1975 & the political mess that ensued since that time, deterred my Father from ever wanting to go back & live there.  It wasn’t until the early 90’s, when a successful businessman named; Rafik El Hariri (a new name in Lebanese Politics) appeared on the scene as Lebanon’s new Prime Minister. This self-made billionaire (that had earned the respect & friendship of Presidents & Royal Families from the entire Middle East, Europe & The Americas), brought overwhelming ‘hope’ back to the millions of Lebanese world-wide with his impressive rebuilding of Beirut.  Rafik Hariri’s constant message of asking Lebanese, Arabs, Tourists & International Investors to come back & ‘believe in Lebanon’ excited & convinced my Father to take the family for a memorable Summer Vacation to Lebanon in 1995.  We had the BEST OF TIMES during that trip. And most importantly, my Father reunited with his huge beloved family & got to spend time in catching up on so much lost time. 

 

But it is as if there is an unwritten curse for this Country of Lebanon - to not have any lasting peace. Because in less than 10 years, this great man; Rafik El Hariri was assassinated.  And gone with him was any hope for a secure Lebanon.  My Father was deeply affected by the loss of this ‘larger than life’ man, affectionately named ‘El Hariri’ by the Lebanese. He had been so happy to witness all the good that this man did, putting his beautiful Beirut back on the glamorous World Stage.  My Dad, along with the millions of Lebanese that had immigrated from Lebanon could not believe their luck, in that their beloved ‘Beirut’ was being rebuilt & possibly their ‘Paris of the Middle East’ days, was going to have a resurgence!  I remember how my Baba used to drink his Arabic/ Turkish coffee every morning, as he watched the news of the tragic death & commented in devastation; ‘Allah Yirhamo (God Bless his soul). What a huge loss! (Dee’a3no Wallah).’  

 

After Rafik El Hariri passed away, my Father never thought twice about moving back & residing in Lebanon.  He visited the country once more in 2009 and made it a point to visit the Grave of the Former Lebanese Prime Minister. My Father wanted to ‘Thank the Prime Minister’ for everything he did for Lebanon.  And to express a sincere special appreciation from ‘one Father to another Father’ in supporting me; (his daughter) throughout my Professional Career as a successful Lebanese-American Newspaper Publisher.  My Baba carried knowledge (with deep appreciation) that Rafik El Hariri always referred to me, affectionately; ‘Fatina Zay Binti’.  And such respect coming from this great man, meant a lot to my Father.  Most importantly, my Baba Omar prayed ‘El Fatiha Prayer’ for Rafik Bahaa El Hariri’s soul.

 

Lebanon to my Father, then became only a place to reminisce his childhood & call his loved ones still living there.  America, (specifically the State of Ohio) was his established & cherished home that he lovingly rebuilt his entire life in. My Father ALWAYS remarked how much he loved Ohio & felt the best decision he made as a young man, was to immigrate to the United States.   

 

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*In writing this Tribute to my Father, as a respected Writer & Publisher – this has been probably the hardest piece to ever have to put my personal life’s childhood experiences, thoughts & feelings together into words – and publicly.  ‘Love’ truly is such a powerful force. It can breathe life into you as calmly as a baby’s breath, & at the same time, it can violently overtake you with immense indescribable pain.  This emotion we call ‘Love’ both gives life & can potentially be so painful that it can also steal life - like a murderous thief.  (As I strongly believe in the saying ‘he/she died of a broken heart’).  So, I must attribute that it has been a bit comforting, to keep saying my Baba’s name out loud, over & over; Omar.  Omar.  Omar.  It reassures me, in that no physical separation – not even death - can ever get in between my Father & I. As his name will indefinitely be a part of my name, until the end of time.

You see, in the traditional Middle Eastern Culture; the children always receive their Father’s First Name, as their Middle Name. In my case; Fatina ‘Omar’ Salaheddine.  It is beautifully set, so that there is NEVER a separation from child & father (even when daughters grow-up & marry; & traditionally take their husband’s last name, as their new ‘name change’ – the Middle Name stays reserved eternally for their Father’s First Name).  Locking forever the bond of Father-Daughter.

 

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*My precious Baba… since you Passed Away, I have been with such a heavy pained heart, trying to accept the fact that I will never be able to see you & wrap my arms around you again. I am here on this earth because of you.  I am what I am today, because of you. I am & will always be; the First-Born Daughter of such a kind, smart, determined, patient, generous and very hard-working Lebanese Man that I inherited my Lebanese Culture & Name-Sake from. All because of the way in which you generously provided for me & raised me. Over the years, I was witness to how you were always so very kind to all your friends & never hesitated to help anyone in need. Growing up, & in watching you & your ‘Lebanese ways’ at home - you planted the seeds of your Lebanese Cedar Tree in my heart.  Alongside my American Stars & Stripes that I put my right hand on my heart to, in each time I recite my United States National Anthem. And it is because of your brave journey as a young man - from Lebanon to America- that my Identity & DNA is; American of Lebanese descent. (Ohio Proud)!

‘Thank You God’ for choosing Omar to be my Father.  And ‘Thank You Baba Omar’ for the extra-ordinary ‘Signs & Messages’ you keep sending me during my waking hours – proving you are right here near me, as I’m missing & thinking of you.  And I pray you continue to come to me in my sleep at night, through my dreams. For dreams are God’s way of confirming that our souls still exist in another world & that there is in fact ‘life after this physical death’.

In trying to console myself, I have been listening to one of Sabah’s incredibly sad songs & thinking of you Baba; IDD’ZAKAROONI B’GHYAABEE = (As I am on my journey flying away on the wings of the plane, remember me in my absence….).  I am envisioning you Baba, on the wings of your adored MEA Airlines, flying high high across the ‘Ohio to Beirut Skies’.  Feeling peaceful in your long journey, going back home to your beloved Beirut.  As you listen to your darling singer; Sabah, whilst keeping a ‘forever loving watch’ over me.

(I promise you; Min khal’laf ma’ met, ya Bayyi. Ra7h dall tool o3mri ‘bint Omar). = Arabic Saying; that one can never die, when they have a child that lives on, in this physical world, carrying their Father’s noble character & namesake.

 

May You Rest in Peace, (as you do in my heart). Habib Albi Baba. Forever missing you.

~ Fatina Omar Salaheddine

 

Founder; BFH Foundation

President; Silk Road M.E. Consultancy

Creative Director; Nonabel

Former Publisher; The Al-Sahafa Newspaper USA

Former VIP Guest Director; Cleveland Clinic Foundation

Online Google Bio: https://sites.google.com/site/fatinasalaheddinebiography

TWITTER: @MissFatina

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