Uber Dad!

Rest in peace dearest of fathers, coolest of teachers, and surest of companions!

The Proud American: An Immigrant Story

Nine young men, it is shame that there were no young ladies amongst them, set foot on the sidewalk of a greyhound bus station in Davis, California. The befuddled looks of newcomers were written all over their youthful aspiring faces. The bewilderment that accompanies people when they land on a new continent where the language is not their mother tong, where the culture is one hundred eighty degrees differently-oriented from their own, and where the belief system is beyond hyper-foreign to theirs defies descriptions and paints their brown faces with the darkest colors of the void.

But, as soon as the masks of the unknown sculpted the shapes of their weary faces, car after car started pulling in front of their frail bodies that endured miles of pressurized air and hours of tightly seated conditions to pick each one of them at a time. The car drivers were like valets but without the uniforms, without the expectations of payments, and without even the thought of being showered with thanks in return.

A skinny curly night-haired and bicycle-moustached fellow was greeted by the gentlest and wisest of gentlemen to enter a sports car that beamed with opulence and fanciness. The gestures did the speaking, the smiles did the greeting, and the beyond-obvious kindness did the reassuring that care, love, and peace are to ensue. The drive was brief, luscious with green sceneries, and featured roads that were spacious beyond belief.

The car pulled into the driveway of a beautiful house. The ever-so-kind gentleman signaled for the traveler to enter to be greeted by the classiest and gentlest of women. The beaming eyes, the genuine Mona Lisa like smiles, and the healing gestures did the talking for this fairest and sweetest of women any human being can ever dream to encounter.

The intellectual fellow, in his fifties, disappeared for a while to return with a whiteboard that he set on an easel-like tripod. English lesson one began in a flash. Names were established; he was Dr. Burt Butler and his beloved wife became known as Mrs. Butler. The travel-wary foreigner became known to the two of them as Taoufik Nadji (me); the Algerian young man who came to Davis to learn English at the ExtensionCenter (EC) for three quarters before embarking on a masters degree in theoretical physics in the United States of America.

I stayed for a week, I believe, during which more English lessons ensued and more of my EC matters have wonderfully been sorted out. Dr. Butler also assisted me with my housing rental arrangements and with the bank account opening. At the house, Mrs. Butler made sure I was fed because my skinny body then suggested possible lack of nourishment (this was not the case at all; I was just a skinny dude whose dietary habits were unusual and riddled with allergic reactions to a variety of foods.)

Once I settled in my rental apartment near the campus of UC Davis with three other Algerian classmates and as soon as my English classes began, Dr. Butler would come every two weeks or so. He would pick me up and take me to spend the weekend with his family. As my English improved, our conversations became more extensive and more of our respective personal lives unfolded before our dreamy eyes and curious minds. The bond strengthened to the point that they began taking me to some of their friendly social functions, openhearted religious events, and exceedingly welcoming opulent parties.

I can never forget the Christmas party where the guests were local dignitaries, politicians, and hotshot business people from the greater Davis area. The glamor and the breathtaking extravagant nature of the party never distracted Dr. Butler from his self-imposed generous host duties. He walked with me along the long table that was adorned with all kinds of cuisine delicacies. He pointed to each of the food items to let me know which ones were halal (that a Muslim can consume) and which ones were not. He and Mrs. Butler did not miss any single opportunity to introduce me to their acquaintances and friends with full pride despite my simple-kid look.

My studies at the EC in Davis ended and I had to go back to Algeria for the summer to get ready for my next American stop the fall of that year. While in Algeria, the Butlers and I exchanged letters and did so for three or so more years. The last letter that I had gotten from them before I regrettably lost contact with them was dated July 27, 1986. This letter was the epitome of how people of various cultures ought to establish bonds of humanity, kindness, and genuine selfless love with one another. It along with the way the Butlers, my American parents, have welcomed me in their fold and embraced me as a member of their family defined, in my mind, what America is truly all about. No events since and no scheming of any over-zealous politicians afterwards were, are, or will ever be going to efface this image of America that I have become part of its essence, its fabric, and its sublime set of grand values, all thanks to this most caring and most generous of couples.

This story of mine is not unique nor singular. Numerous other immigrants must have enjoyed the generosity of my fellow Americans throughout the ages. It is sad that in the name of hollow patriotism, some heartless politicians decided to stoop so low as to separate immigrants from their children or mistreat immigrants as if they were a burden on our country. Nope, these sheepish un-American acts are not going to be carried out in my name, under my star spangled banner, and above all not on the pure soil of our land of the free and our home of the brave. America’s generosity and her beatitude are not going to be effaced by the acts of the few amongst us. The orientation of our moral compass is steadier than ever.

Update and Eulogy:

In my attempts to try to connect with the Butlers, I sadly found out that Dr. Butler passed away in 2017. My grief and my sadness are immeasurable on many grounds:

(i)                    Loosing such a noble human being before I was able to re-re-re-thank him and his beloved wife for their welcoming me in their lives is a grave loss in and of itself.

(ii)                   Not knowing about the passing away of Dr. Butler soon enough so that I would have paid my respects and attended the funeral to share his wife and his family their grief and their grave loss was beyond describable and sad. My biological father (RhA) passed away three years earlier back in Algeria and this new loss only compounded the feeling of emptiness and void these two great individuals left behind. 

(iii)                 I did not known that the Butlers resettled in Sacramento. I visited this very same city back in the summer of 2016 as a presenter at the American Association of Physics Teacher (AAPT). Had I known that this was the case, I would have loved to connect with them then. But, what can one do when fate takes a course different from some of one’s own wishes.

Rest in peace, dear American father, and may Allah (SWT) [God] reward you for all the wonderful things you have done for me and for the countless great deeds you have showered upon individuals whose life paths crossed yours. God bless you and bless your whole family for eternity.    

Love Trilogy

Valentine's day is one of my favorite days of the year. How can anyone let the occasion of expressing love toward other fellow human beings pass them by?

What follows are three pieces of writing that I like to think of as poems. But you, the reader, are free to think of them however your hearts wish to feel about them. They are a bouquet of love to my sweetheart, the mother of my children and my true inspiration in this journey we call life.

******* Starting of Writing Pieces *******

Writing Piece # 1: 

Note: "..." indicates a pause while reading.

... to love! [by Taoufik Nadji]

People love to sing but I ...
             sing to love.
                    You are ... the ethereal song!
People love to swing but I ...
             swing to love.
                    You are ... the magical dance!
People love to toast but I ...
             toast to love.
                    You are ... the heavenly drink!
People love to boast but I ...
             boast to love.
                    You are ... the ultimate prize!
People love to marry but I ...
             marry to love.
                    You are ... the sweetest bride!
People love to think but I ...
             think to love.
                    You are ... the happy thoughts!
People love to live but I ...
             live to love.
                    You are ... the selfless love!
People love to believe but I ...
             believe in love.
                    Your love ...
                    My love ...

                    Our love ...

                    The eternal sweet love!


Writing Piece # 2: 

L . O . V . E  [by Taoufik Nadji]

By the atoms that make you and me,
By the cells that shape you and me,
By the spirits that run through you and me,
By the thoughts that tickle the imagination within you and me,
By the nights that cover and shelter humanity and ... you and me,
By the days that expose and breathe a new life into you and me,
By the moonshines that erase the darkness for you and me,
By the sun rays that caress the bodies of you and me,
By the feelings of longing that warm the hearts of you and me,

I learned only one language,

which has only four symbols.

People call them letters but I only know them as...

L . O . V . E

Writing Piece # 3: 

To love you [by Taoufik Nadji]

To love you is not to set you on a pedestal above all women.

Rather, it is to render all women but a likeness of you.

To love you is not to worship you as a goddess.

Rather, it is to redefine religion and to repurpose worship.

To love you is not to paint tableaus of immaculate beauty.

Rather, it is to flip the esthetics switch so that you become the embodiment of all judgments of beauty.

To love you is not to compose ecstatic music and ethereal songs.

Rather, it is to invent new notes, new rhythmic scales, and new melodies that self-configure in never before sung tongs and never before heard nusic.

To love you is not to dream of you as a princess or to bow to you as a queen.

Rather, it is to come to the realization that you are the kingdom, the subjects, and the very edifice of what makes them all together a nation, a people, a universe.

To love you is not to have my poor beating heart ache whenever I see you, I hear your voice, or just be near you.

Rather, it is to accept the mere fact that you become the very heart of mine that incessantly beats to the tune you fashioned, to the rhythm you set, and to the cadence that only you are able to conjure up.

So, to love you sweetheart is beyond comprehension, beyond description, beyond me, beyond you, beyond what-when-where, and above all beyond the why!?

******* End of Writing Pieces *******

Thank you for taking the time to read these three pieces of writing dedicated to love and Happy Valentine's Day to you and to all the ones you love!