The official story all Palestinian parents tell their kids

Palestinian parents are different, sure. I think we use the word ‘unique’ now. But for some odd and unexplainable reason, they all tell identical stories about their lives back home to make us Palestinian children feel guilty about our apparently luxurious lives here. Many of us have grown increasingly suspicious about the nature of this story, but until we can formally figure out how they are all able to recite the same story, here it is in full:

Ya baba (or ya mama, depending on which parent is telling the story), when I was your age I used to walk over mountains. I never had the privileges you and your friends have. You wish it doesn’t take you an hour to get to school? Consider yourself lucky. Back in my day I used to walk three miles up a hill, barefoot, over Israeli tanks and broken glass, just to get to school. I would have to wake up before fajr. And when school finished, I would walk another three miles up the same hill, barefoot still, over more tanks and glass. Dinner was a single zaytoona and I would always save the pit so I could play glool with the neighbors. When it was time to do homework, I lit the candle and shared a desk with my fifteen brothers, sisters, and cousins. I also had just one notebook throughout all my years in school. At the start of each year, I would erase all of the pages and use them again. Sometimes I didn’t even have an eraser because it fell down the hill I climbed to school or back home. You have too many luxuries.”

Mind you, this story is typically shared once the parent sits on the fancy sofa his or her children are not allowed to sit on.

There is one comment

  1. tim74836

    It all sounds very familiar till you mention the Israeli tanks. Not 60 years ago the small classrooms and households across the globe had the same tools, same appliances, (very few), and needed to perform their daily tasks, (including school), without help from a calculator, or even a fancy ruler. Hand tools; that’s it. But the similarity ends their. These good people do not complain about the invasion? They don’t exhaust their entire self in grief on a daily basis till no one wants to even see them? Are they that stable, and mature that they accept their plight like a cross to be born and hope for better days? I have great respect for that. I read a blog where an 80 year old Palestinian man declared that the Israelis destroyed heaven when they pulverized his trees. He doesn’t strike me as someone waiting for a plumber to arrive to fix his leaky faucet, or have a panic attack because of a bad internet connection. I can respect that.

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