This was originally published over at the The Thrival Room and titled On Immigrating and Parents’ Love. My family and I immigrated to the U.S. from Swat, Pakistan, some fifteen years ago when I was twelve years old.
Here’s how a conversation between me and 5-year-old Kashmala, my niece, went a few weeks ago. Kashmala, as we were face-timing: Let’s watch Youtube songs! Can you pleeeeeeeeeeeeease put on that song “Beautiful”? It’s my faaaaaaveeerite!
For the past several months, I’ve been going through some shit. That includes losing people/friends that I regret losing (no, don’t be like, “Well, they weren’t worth your friendship in the first place if they had to choose to get out of your life,” or, “Oh, well – their loss!” No, it’s their loss, maybe, but it’s my loss, too, and I’m not okay with that), and some other stuff. […]
This topic has come up a couple of times in the past week or so. Especially because I would agree with anyone who says we need to see more men like this in the media; it needs to be pointed out more publicly and widely that nail polish and make-up daddies (or, heck, non-parents, too!) are totally cool, and that their masculinity is not so delicate as to be annihilated through this “feminine” act. Especially when it’s for the love of their daughters or granddaughters. (Okay, for simplicity’s sake, I am going to just use “daddies” instead of both “daddies and granddaddies.”)
Now, I think a new criterion needs to be set for all husbands/potential fathers: That they be willing to be nail-polish and make-up daddies (and/or husbands – but let’s focus for now)