Whenever I put on socks, I think of my father. I open my eyes and see him putting on his socks before going to work. He looks at me and winks… And with a slight smile, I practically see him off and go back to sleep.
When I play football with my son, I think of the neighborhood where I grew up and my childhood friends. We could play football with them all day… The moment we left school, the neighborhood turned into a football pitch, and we would try to play during the hours when no cars passed by. I can’t help feeling sad that my son didn’t grow up with that neighborhood culture…
Though it may not be much of a thing in our country, whenever I get on public transport, I think of my high school years. The days when I first got my student “pass.” Those years spent on municipal buses. The seats at the back of the bus where I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn’t have to give mine up to someone else. The conversations about girls with my classmates…
Whenever I go to the sea, I think of Lake Sapanca. We used to skip school with our friends and go swimming in the lake. We swam among the reeds, surrounded by water snakes. We didn’t have much money, so bread and pickles were the cheapest meal for us. Now you’ve got me craving some…
Whenever I sit down at the computer and start browsing the internet, I think of the first day I met it in our high school library. We had heard of something called the internet, but hadn’t had the chance to use it—until that day. One day during class, our teacher took us to the library, where a bespectacled guy was trying to connect to the internet via Dial-Up, and we were delighted that class was being wasted.
Every holiday, I think of my childhood. On the morning of the holiday, we would get up early and go to the holiday prayer with my older brother and father. On Eid al-Fitr, after the prayer, we would impatiently head home and eat the delicious holiday baklava my mother had made. On Eid al-Adha, after the prayer, my older brother, father, and I would go to slaughter the sacrificial animal. We would never eat anything, waiting for the first meal of the day: kavurma made from the sacrificial meat. Then the whole family would go to my paternal grandmother’s, kiss her hand, wish her a happy holiday, and collect our holiday money. It felt very strange to see my mother and father kissing her hand. Anyway, you know what came next: people coming to visit us for the holiday, us going to visit others, and so on... Holiday clothes, holiday festivities, and memories of holidays spent getting up to mischief with the children in the neighborhood…
Remember, today is a day to make memories, so it’s in your hands to give your children memories they’ll carry into the future…
I hope you have a holiday that leaves you and your children with beautiful memories, and I wish you a happy holiday.