Contributed article by Sassan Pedram

”Children begin by loving their parents. After a time, they judge them. Rarely, if ever, do they forgive them,” Oscar Wilde.

I never walked a mile in my father shoes until I put on his glasses. The only relics which I have from him besides my conflicted memories are the old brittle reading glasses with the magical ability to correct my memory’s distortion.

Before I got these glasses, I was completely lost and confused about my relationship with my dad. So many unanswered questions were encapsulated in my mind, questions about my father’s actions and behaviors toward my poor family and me.

And until touching this crystal fortune teller, my mind was not capable of finding the slightest clue about his savage actions and his brutality.

My dad’s glasses corrected my vision and gave me an insight into his difficulties and problems. Furthermore, this vision correction gave me reasons for forgiving and forgetting his actions against my family and me. With the help of this small and fragile instrument, I found a shiny path of love and care for him and ultimately for all people in my life.

I left my country, Iran, nine years ago; and in January 2010, I returned to visit my homeland. About four years ago, my father passed away, and because of visa problems, I couldn’t leave the U.S. and attend his burial ceremony.

In our culture, the oldest son must attend this ceremony, so this unfinished duty hurts me very much, and this guilt has been a burden on my shoulders until now.

My relationship with my late father was a mixture of love and hate.

I loved him because he was very kind and generous to me and my siblings. He always prepared everything for us and spent a lot of time and money to play games, take us to movies and other fun activities.

In contrast, I hate him because he treated my lovely mother very poorly.

Alcohol had a very bad effect on my father’s personality and behavior and in a minute changed his calm and abeyant character to a savage and brutal beast, something like a Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde persona.

His character instantly metamorphosed into an aggressive animal. Instantly, this satanic beverage changed my dad’s face to crimson color, his voice to shouting thunder, his eyes to glowing hell and his personality to Satan.

He aggressively searched to find my mother. Ultimately, he captured his prey, punched and kicked her fragile body until she fell unconsciously on the ground.

In those moments, my small siblings and I were scared to the death, crept under beds or hid in dark closets to avoid hearing and seeing my mother’s cries and my father’s shouts.

Those scenes have stayed in my mind for long, long years.

For most of my adulthood, I tried to make a distance with these ugly and painful memories.  For a last remedy, I emigrated to the U.S. for good and stayed here without mentioning or remembering my past.

However, for this severe happening, I must return to my homeland. When I reached my parent’s house after all of these years, most of my father’s valuable relics were taken or given away; I didn’t want to have anything from him because of my painful past.

One of those nights after visiting my father’s burial site, I was sitting with mom. I think she asked me something about my departure schedule, so I wanted to check my ticket’s times.

Unfortunately, I forgot to take my glasses home, so I asked my mom if there were any glasses in our house. She answered my father’s glasses were on the shelf, and maybe they could help my weak eyes.

First I hesitated, but I saw the glasses urgently were needed for finishing my task.

I took the case.

When I touched the case with my trembling hands, it made a very strange feeling in me. It was like I touched my father’s face with my hands.

In a moment, I felt how much I missed him, how much I loved him and how much I hide my loneliness and sadness from others and myself.

It was a big surprise for me that after all damages that he did in my personal and emotional life, I still adored him so eagerly.

I opened the old leather case and drew out those old and fragile glasses with dark bronze frames. When I hold them in front of my eyes, those glasses likely brightened up my past memories.

They helped me to better remember my dad; they reminded me how fragile and small was my father’s silhouette.

How much did this small and petite creature want to be shown as big and strong? How much did he struggle in his work place with all of his more experienced co-workers and better educated colleagues? How much he was a follower and prisoner of his country’s sexist and male supremacist culture and religion.

However, above all of these tortures for him was his homely eyewitness, my mother. She was a cold witness of all of his faults, weaknesses and shortcomings.

Therefore, based on my father’s poor judgment, my mother must be punished. She must be punished for her awareness, punished for her silent resistance and her strength to save our shattered family structure for many years.

Sadly, she has sacrificed herself for her children’s sake and stayed in the cage of this paper tiger for more than 30 years.

After all of these flash backs, I couldn’t help but feel pity for my father, pity for his miserable life, pity for his ignorance and pity for his misconceptions about family values.

I couldn’t feel any hatred in my heart after understanding his distorted views of reality.

I felt at ease and peace with my past.

I felt my heavy heart lightened, and it threw away all of its dark and painful spots.

I felt my heart had a space for freedom, for love, for forgiveness and for seeing beauty.

From then onward, every time that the hatred about something or someone invades my heart, I wear my father’s glasses. This old and precious heritage from my adored dad can defeat them all.

The glasses show me a better and clearer version of the world. They help me to forget and forgive dark, sad parts and love and cherish the shiny beautiful parts of the world.