𝗔 𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗜 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝘅 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗼𝘁.
Winter 1970.
I was a shy Lebanese girl, freshly immigrated to Canada.
New to snow.
New to English and Sesame Street.
New to being the outsider.
And on that first day of school, I felt it.
The cold wasn’t just outside.
It was in the stares, the mocking, the silence of teachers who looked the other way.
That was my first culture shock.
I came home, held back my tears, and over dinner told my father everything.
I wanted comfort.
Instead, I got something else.
He listened quietly.
Put down the pita in his hand.
Looked me in the eyes and said:
“Jamal, I owe you nothing. The teacher owes you nothing. The students owe you nothing.
This country owes you nothing.
One day your job will owe you nothing. Your boss will owe you nothing.
Your love will owe you nothing.
If you have children one day, they will owe you nothing.
The world owes you nothing.
𝗟𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗼𝘄𝗲𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴.”
He paused.
Took a sip of water.
Looked at my face and quivering lips as I tried, even harder, to hold back my tears.
Then, in a gentle, loving voice, he continued:
“𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆? 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝘄𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳.
𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝘄𝗮𝘆.”
His voice wasn’t cruel, just certain.
Like he was 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗵𝘂𝗴.
Then he scooped labneh, picked an olive, finished his meal, kissed me on the head, and whispered “habibti babba” before leaving the table.
I sat there, six years old, letting the weight of those words settle in.
I didn’t understand it all then, but I never forgot it.
That moment became a quiet compass.
Because years later, when I faced heartbreak, layoffs, bias, reinvention, and impossible deadlines,
I heard his voice.
Find a way.
And somehow, I always did.
What’s a hard truth that shaped your mindset?
