My teacher said in a formal tone, ‘Mr Mokhtari, I congratulate you for having a son like Shahaab. We also consider you prize-worthy, for being such an aware parent, and discovering and developing your son’s unusual talent at such an early age. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a very serious issue. There are many talented children that never get the chance to develop because their parents don’t have the required awareness. I sincerely hope that other parents follow Mr Mokhtari’s example and pay more attention to their children’s capabilities.’
I gave a sarcastic grin and lowered my head. My father stepped forwards. Speaking into the microphone made his voice unfamiliar, but the fact that he sounded choked up had nothing to do with the microphone. I looked up, surprised. He looked pale and his lips were trembling. After a long pause he said, ‘Having a son like Shahaab is every parent’s dream. He has achieved everything on his own. I haven’t done anything for him. He deserves more than I’ve ever given him. I hope he can forgive me.’ I was in shock, looking at him in disbelief. ‘The only thing I can say is that I love you more than anything else in the world and am extremely proud of you.’ He opened his arms and came towards me. My eyes were filled with tears and I couldn’t see him clearly. I went to him. He hugged me hard and gave me a kiss on the head. This scene was photographed and my mother enlarged the photo as if it were a peace agreement following a heart-rending war at home. The framed picture covered half our wall. It was as if she wanted to replace my unhappy childhood memories with this one picture. It eventually became a symbol of my past, hiding my memories behind it.
In the following days some of the ice between us melted. We were both shy and unable to express our feelings, yet we tried to give each other kind glances. But it was too late to learn the art of love, and we needed a long time to make up for lost opportunities. I wasn’t sure if that was even possible.
I needed to forget many things in order to love my father the way he deserved. So I began to erase my childhood memories. I still didn’t trust him but didn’t know why, which made me feel guilty. I felt as if I were an ungrateful child who didn’t love my father as much as I should.
The years went by and I successfully completed senior school. Now I am a second-year art student, but I still suffer from a lack of self-confidence and can’t easily interact with others. Whenever I decide to say something in a group or express an opinion, my heart starts to beat wildly, making me change my mind about speaking, or else I speak in such a quivering voice that people can barely understand me. Deep inside, I still consider myself stupid. I am never sure of myself or the things I do, and this sense of doubt is apparent in my artwork as well. Mother still worries about me and tries to create situations where I’ll meet people my own age. Today she’s thrown a large party for my twentieth birthday.
My body felt stiff. I got up from the small platform on the rooftop. I shook the dust off my trousers and peeked over the neighbour’s wall. Their tree-filled garden still looked beautiful from above. I could see a nest between some branches. I stretched my hand towards it when I was suddenly startled by a voice. I turned around. Shadi was standing in front of me, beautiful and smiling as always. She pretended to be angry and said, ‘So here you are! We’ve been looking for you for hours! Mother’s been holed up in her room and you’ve been hiding up here like a child! All the guests are waiting for you. What are you doing here?’
‘Reviewing the past twenty years.’
‘How interesting. Mother said the same thing.’
The living room was filled with people. I joined them. Kourosh, my good-natured, rowdy classmate, pointed to the framed photograph on the wall and said, ‘Hey, guys! Come and see this picture. Look at Shahaab. He looks so cute! How long ago was this?’
‘I was in the fifth year.’
‘Who’s the man hugging you like that?’
I stared at the picture and quietly said, ‘Him? He’s Arash’s father!’