Homecoming: Superheros

Dear World Wide Web,

With homecoming week underway, I was envisioning all the upcoming themed days in my mind. The first theme my mind wandered to was naturally Monday, Superhero day. Before the images of Batman, The Flash, and Spider-Man crossed my mind, I thought of my biggest super hero: my father.

There are times where I want to hide from my parents because they're incredibly embarrassing, but my father's journey to the United States is the most inspirational story I have ever heard. Every time I tell the story of how my father had literally grown from the ground up, jaws steadily drop until they lay on the floor. Though, it is not because of my exquisite story telling skills, it is because of the suffering he had endured to pursue the “American Dream.”

My father, Lokman, had been born in Chittagong, with ten brothers and sisters getting by with what they had. Because my great grandfather owned a primary school in Chittagong, my aunts and uncles were able to receive a perfectly fine education, and were able to barely hold their lives together. Everyone was continuing in their own way until 1971, the year of the Bangladesh War of Liberation. This was when Bangladesh, which was then East Pakistan was asserting its independence from West Pakistan, which is now Pakistan. My father enlisted in the army to pay tribute to the land he loved most. During his time in the army he worked his way up to become a “freedom fighter," fighting with blood, sweat and tears. Although, this was not enough, he was captured a few months into the war, only to become a prisoner of war. Three months later, he negotiated his way out of prison and promised his fellow inmates that he would escape the life he led now. That was when he took everything he had to America, without the help of his parents. He was desperate for a new chapter in his life, a beacon of light, and that beacon was America. He was going to move there regardless of what his parents had thought.

With one hundred taka in his pocket, or 10 US dollars, he flew overseas to Hartford, Connecticut where he stayed in an old friend’s basement. The first thing he did upon his arrival in Connecticut was go to the salvation army and buy a suit for his job interviews with the three dollars he set aside for his business attire. He eventually purchased an itchy green suit with missing buttons and rips everywhere, but nevertheless it was intact. He applied for countless odd jobs, at banks, carvel factories and kfc stores because it was now his responsibility to pay for his education. For five years, he had lived in the cramped basement working sedulously on ways to make more money, making sure his future family would never suffer like he had to. He struggled every day, living the life of an overspent 28 year old.

After the long endured five years, he had gotten his first raise to a managerial position at kfc, which was enough to let go of his other two jobs at the bank and the carvel factory. Through his new managerial position he met his best friend, Dave. When Dave's grandfather, the owner of most of the corporation at the time had passed, he had left Dave a large amount of franchises. With that, my father sharpened his English, people skills, and financial abilities, and was recommended for a partnership in a 50 store franchise with his best friend.

My father was dumbfounded; he had absolutely nothing to say, nothing in his life had ever presented itself before him without any pretenses. Just like that, his life had turned right side up, allowing him to find his rightful place in the world.

Sometimes I wonder how he did it all, and is still incredibly humbled by this experience 35 years later. A few years ago, I asked him because I was completely puzzled by his life story. He told me to check the back of his closet, and I did. There in a raggedy black garment bag laid the green suit, tears and all. He had pursued the American Dream all on his own, from the ground up.

Not as decaffeinated,
DECAF dork