A pleasant chill went through my bones when I received an e-mail from my teenage daughter Nawal, who lives and attends school (I hope) in Southern California, announcing that she wants me to write a letter about her for a class project.
In typical fatherly enthusiasm to all things daughterly I said: "Sure, no sweat! You'll have it by tomorrow." And then I stared absent-mindedly for the longest time at the blank screen.
You see, I believe that a writer, to be effective, needs to be somehow detached from the topic he is writing about.
How can a father become detached, even momentarily, from his daughter?
So, here I am, writing with no detachment whatsoever and not knowing how the end result will look like.
I have always thought of my daughter Nawal as a living hurricane.
A constructive one, of course, if there is such a thing!
To say that she is bubbly, full-of-life, energetic, etc. would be very ordinary and very faint.
As a baby, Nawal had a level of energy that exceeded the world record, had we chosen to measure it scientifically!
I think it was that excessive energy that caused her hair to stand up in a spiky style, way before that style became fashionable. Her small fingers would cling tenaciously to anything that moves. Her sharp nails would always scratch her face requiring extra maintenance.
As a teenager, Nawal, kept changing hobbies, trends and favourite things the same way she changed socks.
Everyday carried a new idea.
Every week she wanted to do something different.
Every month she adopted a new cause.
Every year she had a different favourite foreign language at school.
I needed to train my mind to accept the fact that nothing remains the same with Nawal.
I always interpreted this as a sign of vibrant mental curiosity.
Passionately
I remember when she was wearing the vegetarian hat, so passionately and so devotedly, filling the house with posters depicting animals in horrible conditions. I remember when she was demonstrating against meat eaters outside a famous restaurant, with her friends, and a passing driver yelled at her: "Find a real cause!"
Another driver yelled: "I love chicken!"
We both laughed at these quips, coming from ordinary people in a hurry to say something!
Soon enough, Nawal found a better cause (I guess!) and she went back to eating fish and chicken.
If you enter Nawal's room on any given day you will be shocked by the number of things she is involved in simultaneously.
She will be talking to a friend on her mobile, talking to another on her home phone, typing a letter, recording a piece of music, downloading a song, playing a game, returning an e-mail, reading loudly a funny e-mail, watching TV, patting her cat, re-arranging the room, to name a few things!
Her answer was the same every time I asked her to focus on one thing: "Dad, I can handle it!"
I remember when her school organised a cultural night and asked for volunteers among the students to perform something that reflects their culture.
Solo dance
As an Arab-American, Nawal suggested doing a short solo dance to a traditional Arabic tune. She even asked me to perform with her on stage by playing the tabla. Never mind my protestations that she was crazy, that she never danced before in public, that there will be hundreds of students and teachers who will laugh at any mistake. She persisted, practised her act and did it without hesitation. Overnight she became the coolest Arab-American girl in her school!
As time passed I found it increasingly difficult and useless to keep asking Nawal to slow down.
I came to the conclusion that it would be against her nature to even consider slowing down. So I stopped doing it.
What's a hurricane like without speed, fury and passion?
Ahmad Zahzah is a media consultant based in the UAE.
