My Father
(By Zahra Yasini Martyr's Child)
I was 5 then and I was playing with my dolls when I saw my father walking and thinking in the corridor. He was so deeply immersed in his thought I couldn't ask him to play with me. Most of the time when he came home he used to play with me but this time he was badly involved in thoughts.
While he was strolling, my mother arrived and said, "Alireza! What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing" "Tell us what's happened. Why are you so drowned in thinking?" "You know lady, many of my friends have been martyred during the war. Such as Abbass Dowran, Hossein Khalatbari. I would like very much to die on the plane rather than in bed."
Since I was busy playing I did not pay attention to the details but just remembered these few words interchanged between them.
Not long after this on a Friday morning they took my little brother and me to my uncle's. I didn't know what had happened. Only some of the relatives would whisper some words and order us, "Go play!" Though we did not know a thing, we did not feel like playing.
The next day, when I saw my mother, with a picture of my father in her hands, crying, I noticed that my father had been martyred and his wish had been granted.
I was 5 then and I was playing with my dolls when I saw my father walking and thinking in the corridor. He was so deeply immersed in his thought I couldn't ask him to play with me. Most of the time when he came home he used to play with me but this time he was badly involved in thoughts.
While he was strolling, my mother arrived and said, "Alireza! What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing" "Tell us what's happened. Why are you so drowned in thinking?" "You know lady, many of my friends have been martyred during the war. Such as Abbass Dowran, Hossein Khalatbari. I would like very much to die on the plane rather than in bed."
Since I was busy playing I did not pay attention to the details but just remembered these few words interchanged between them.
Not long after this on a Friday morning they took my little brother and me to my uncle's. I didn't know what had happened. Only some of the relatives would whisper some words and order us, "Go play!" Though we did not know a thing, we did not feel like playing.
The next day, when I saw my mother, with a picture of my father in her hands, crying, I noticed that my father had been martyred and his wish had been granted.
