Ya Kuwait, what can I say?

It’s hard for me to deal with this subject as it’s not my own story but the story of my younger sister. I told my mom about my idea to publish this blog but she wasn’t too thrilled the idea as they have moved on but I don’t think it’s fair to just close the subject. Living in Kuwait knowing your father is somewhere and you could run into him at any minute must be very sad and scary. Her ex-husbands uncle was best friends with her father and when she had her son her ex had tried to give her father some meat as two sheep are killed when a baby boy is born and the meat is distributed to members of the family and the needy. Her father refused the gesture and turned her husband away. I was raised by him for several years so I guess I have more memories of him than she has. I remember his boots with the zipper on the side and his Sergio “Caliente” jeans, come on it was the 70’s. I remember his big eyes that he would open wide when he was mad at me and it would make me run and hide. I do forgive him for spanking me with the vacuum cleaner wire although it’s something I will NEVER forget. Since I saw him years back when I first moved to Kuwait I saw a tired man, not the man I was so scared of as a child and whom I hated because he left our family. My question for him is “Will you really go to your grave without claiming my sister”? Your almost 60 now and no one will question you.


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