Dear Readers,

Have you ever had a mind that never stops thinking? I do. I get it from my father.

Each week, I ponder about what I should write about for my blog. I look for signs or a topic that speaks to me. There are times that nothings speaks to me and it is very tough.

This week I kept thinking about my father or my baba as we say in Farsi.

I went to the ocean this past week with my mother. I never liked the beach but my mother loves it. My mother doesn’t drive so I like to take her when I can.

This week I took a moment to stand on the shore. The water would splash against my feet and as I inched forward it hit higher up to my knees. My mind stopped and just captured the essence of the cold water. After a while, my mind wandered to a memory.

When I was little, my father would take my siblings and I to the beach. He would take the canyons and I would barf each time. I always get car sick, which can be quite annoying. Therefore, I always prefer to drive. At the beach, we would find cheap parking or free parking. We would walk toward the pier and then visit the Zoltar fortune telling machine. We would put our quarters into the machine and excitedly read our horoscope. My parents has this strange belief that Zoltar had some type of magic within him. They claimed that in the past, the fortunes would always have truth within them. So I would always save my fortune card in hopes that it held some truth. We would eat fish and chips even though I didn’t like fish. We rarely played at the arcade or went on the rides because we were poor. It didn’t matter nothing was lacking. We would end the night with ice cream and traffic back to the valley. I dreaded the traffic and the canyon ride but those memories are engraved into me. We didn’t have much but we always had a blast.

My father always plays it safe and tends to overthink most of his days.

Guess what?

I take after him in that aspect.

My mind rarely stops.

My father raised six kids while his wife was a house wife. He came here from Afghanistan when the Russians invaded in the 80s. He has a heavy accent and I am proud of his English. He worked at an Arco gas stations to raise his children and purchase a home.

Thank you baba for all you do.

Thank you for reading. Want to share a memory of your parents?



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