Widad's Memoirs - Part 6

We left Uncle Jaghab's to the house my father rented at Chestnut Street, West Hempstead.  A year later, my mother was pregnant. Early one morning, she went into labor and my father took her to Mercy Hospital in Hempstead. When the three girls came home from school (Leila, Sue and I), I called the hospital to find out my mother had a baby boy. That day was the happiest day of our lives. My sisters and I were dancing with joy. Wow, we finally had a baby brother.  My father, my sisters and I had a big celebration that night. The next day we all went to see the baby. He was so adorable and cute, such a bundle of joy. My mother was so happy. That was you David. You were the apple of their eye.

I was eighteen years old when my Aunt Farha called us to tell us that a young gentleman came to Detroit from South America, his family being of Middle Eastern decent. This man asked my Aunt if she knew of any woman who was interested in marriage. My Aunt lived in Michigan that's how she met him.  My aunt came with him and his cousin to Hempstead. She introduced me to him and he seemed very happy to meet me. I liked him too. He had with him a bank account of thirty thousand dollars. That was a lot then. The tradition of our people was that all the relatives get together and decide if he is suitable. My parents also called New Jersey relatives to inquire about this man thinking they might have heard of him and his family.  One relative whose name was Madellalah knew me from Ramallah and liked me a lot.   She told George, her twenty two years old son, that I was a really good girl, and if he didn’t marry me, she would. My parents decided that George, being from the Jaghab family, was known to the family better and could trusted more then a man they hardly knew from Michigan, and that we didn’t really know anything about his background. I knew in my heart he was honorable man because when he heard George and I got engaged he came to Summit, New Jersey too congratulate us. In those days people were like that - polite and considerate.  A few years later I heard this man died in a car accident. I felt very bad..........

Editorial:  Well, what can you say?  My parents tried very hard to produce a son.  I was the second male born to my mother Maria; the first one died at birth in what I believe was a breech delivery gone wrong.  Nine female children with most dying of the evil eye or other poorly described ailments in the poor environment of the West Bank in the Middle East left me and my three  remaining sisters still alive on earth.  I was indeed a spoiled child, but somehow have survived the pampering and over-attention while maintaining some humility and realistic appraisal of self.  My wife of 25 years, Scherer, constantly reminded me of my place in the world and my responsibilities in sharing in family chores and duties.  I’m sort of even functional now as I travel toward my seventh decade.