Abbu at my birthday dinner years ago. He never takes a good meal for granted.
A Confession
Today is my birthday, according to the Islamic calendar. It’s the 18th of Dhul Hijjah, so the date changes each year. And yes, I celebrate my birthday twice a year. And yes, I am going to write about my father on my birthday.
I’ve had an uneven relationship with my father, who in Bangla I call Abbu.
As a child, I remember my father working, like all the time. He didn’t have time to attend high school concerts, class plays, or award ceremonies. When I gave birth during tax season (his busiest season), he wondered if I could try to hold it until after Tax Day. But luckily my mother’s wrath is a serious thing, and he ended up taking her the two hours to the hospital so they were there for the birth of their first grandchild.
When it came to opportunities to pursue knowledge, my father never said no.
Not once, growing up, did my father say no.
My father is the silent, quiet type. He doesn’t show many emotions. Accountants —like lawyers—are for life. His career is helping people and businesses pay their taxes. He has always been my first supporter, my first investor, the person to take the biggest financial risk on anything I wanted to do.
Here’s a shortcut to our conversations over 2 decades:
“Abbu, can I go to Cornell to study political science for a few weeks?” [age 15]
Sure.
“Abbu, can I live in an apartment in the city so I can to the library to study all night?” [age 18]
Sure.
“Abbu, can you put money in my account? There are some overdraft charges for books.” [18]
Sure.
“Abbu, can we go to Singapore or London this summer? Just the two of us?” [14]
Sure.
“Abbu, can I use your credit card to pay for some books?” [ongoing]
Sure. 1
Abbu said yes to most things I asked.
The reason for this is that I am his only daughter, and my mother’s philosophy is that a girl’s life is not really her own. At a certain age, she becomes part of someone else’s life and her desires and whims are secondary to the needs of her family and spouse. This is what my mother was taught, and what she taught me. This belief that his time and responsibility to me was short led my father to do things differently. He tried to maximize his gifts to me, as it was, a short window of time that he had before I got married. My father’s responsibility for my brother does not expire.
When it was time to get married my father had a lot of opinions about the people I was seeing and said no a bunch of times. He didn’t quite say “yes” to my husband either. He withheld any opinion whatsoever. I found out later, he wanted me to marry the prime minister’s nephew/ I never met this guy that my dad seemed to think was a great fit. When this supposed suitor came over to dinner (without me), my mother noted he did not put his supper plate in the sink, and knew right then, he wouldn’t last with me for even a week. My mother knows me better than anyone. In contrast, when my husband came over for the first time, he attempted to help clear the table. My mother was impressed with my husband’s adab, or etiquette.
I believe both my parents gave me the space and freedom to choose whoever I wanted and only asked that I include them in the process of choosing. This is a modest request from the people who have loved me my entire life.
The Stereotype of the Muslim Man
The stereotype of the Muslim Dad is that the father wields control and dominance over the mother and children, and demands they dress and act in a certain prescriptive way. The father demands to be served his meals. The father expects his daughter to bring him water. The father expects respect and compliance. This power dynamic is the main script we are fed.
Growing up, I almost never saw my father in my mom’s kitchen. He didn’t serve us breakfast, or try to take us to school. He didn’t do pick-up either. He was always working, and luckily he was working from home so we did see him if we went to this office.
My father had expectations of my mother AND my mother had expectations of my father. It was never a one-sided deal. The script that often plays is not true to life.
Let me also say this script is not without merit. This script has worked for generations. It is not the only script, but it is one that has yielded positive net gain for my family.
According to this script, there are different responsibilities for men and women based on gender. I have written so many papers about this. I was obsessed with this in my youth2. But as a mother, I am so grateful I do not have the responsibility to care for all the people and the stuff in our lives like my husband does. I am grateful I am not managing my dad’s properties or in charge of multiple business decisions. I am so grateful that each month I get a break from the 5-times-a-day prayers. I get so many breaks for birth and pregnancy — none of which is afforded to my spouse. Men have the weight of everything constantly bearing down, between the deen, house, work, and the community. Modern dads are expected to take the kids to swim, cook once a week, and romance their wives at least multiple times a week. My single-mom girlfriends manage their parents’ properties on top of their own— so in no way do I imply that women can’t do this— but I am just saying the default responsibility is on the male heir, according to my religious law.
My father and mother have what the West would call, a traditional division of labor: men and women are responsible for different things in managing the household. In America, we might also call this efficiency.
My father didn’t interfere in my mother’s domestic sphere of home and my mother never interfered in his world of business. My mother helped. And my father helped.
They both helped each other, a little.
Every time my mother wanted to re-do the living room, or repaint, or add this or that to the house, my father said, sure. He never initiated change. When he decided after 65 to purchase another property as an investment, I was the only one who questioned this purchase. My mother did not ask any questions. She said, “When your father sets his mind to something, he just does it.” I would say the same thing about my mother.
My mother says this division of labor is what afforded my father the ability to focus on his business and my mother the independence to make the decisions in raising us. They had little interference from each other. If the other asked for help, the other helped. Even during house parties, my mother was responsible for all the food catering, the logistics, the setup and the timeline. My father only had to show up, entertain, and pay for everything.
A Tangent on Clients
He told me about one client in NYC who has traveled to Bangladesh (meaning he bought tickets for $6000 for him and his wife) to see my father’s orphanage. This client cuts a check with multiple zeros each year for the orphanage and has visited with my father more than once. This is a true site visit.
Clearly, my father knows client stewardship.
Yet my father has no website, no marketing, not even a Google listing for his business which he has done for 35 years.
His work is all word of mouth.
After surgery, he describes himself as disabled, but I remind him that he can drive, he can see, and how are you disabled if you have the freedom of movement? He manages to go to his property to water the garden, and he manages to get all the repairs done, which are endless. He manages to monitor his trust for his orphanage and he does 100% of his investments on his own. He never involves me or my brother and his son-in-law, though surely the law part is beyond him. But no, my father represents his clients in court too. He said he can do a better job than the lawyers he would have to hire. And he doesn’t want to bother my husband. I think in 20 years, my father has referred 0 business to my husband, which slightly enrages me.
How does my father have so much competence and mastery?
I believe the lack of options made him thrive. He had no option but to be successful. He had no backup plan. He had no father in an extremely patriarchal society. He grew up with nothing and expects nothing.
Here’s an example of his courage: He started a business partnership [ in Italy, with absolutely no contacts in Italy. One of his partners sued the other Italian, and shared the winning settlement with my father, who would never sue even if he’s wronged. So when most immigrants come to America with nothing, my father came with a settlement check. (My timeline is not perfect, but it works for this story)
My father has more ACEs (adverse childhood experiences) than most people. He was an orphan at age 1. He never knew where his meals came from, or if he would get a meal. He lived in what we would call poverty — dirt floor, tin roof, subject to the elements. He spent his childhood climbing trees. He loved his mother, and until her death, made every arrangement for her ease to thank her for raising him. I’ve inherited her Quran, which she read each day. He built the orphanage in her name, and cares for 200 orphans throughout the year—their schooling, food, housing, everything. He also sponsors the college education of a few promising kids in his hometown. He does all of this, without anyone knowing.
Except now, as I tell my father’s story.
Three Lessons
Given all this, there are 3 important lessons my father taught me.
First, he taught me how to pray. I learned to pray like a man because he was my first teacher. I must have been 8 or 9, but he showed me the movements and told me what to say. Every prayer I make in this life, he gets a portion of that good deed. Subanallah. He also didn’t really like Sunday school, but he took me once or twice (which is not sufficient to learn anything) and I told him, I didn’t like it and he said okay.
Second, my father taught me work ethic. He was the first solopreneur. He worked a lot for 3 -4 months of the year (maybe 18-hour days), but for the rest of the year, he was open to traveling and doing other investments and community work. Never in my life have I heard my father complain about his work. He always says work is a blessing and a means of sustenance for our family and a gift from God. Learning tax law is not for the faint of mind. He wasn’t the smartest one in his university, but he wasn’t at the bottom either. He says the only thing that separated him from his peers was he kept going when everyone stopped.3
Third thing, most recently my father taught me to apologize when I’m wrong. For some reason, I remember an incident from my childhood where he threw something while attempting to teach me how to tell time. In my mind, this was a BIG event. And it turns out, he didn’t remember it at all. But on the call with my father, when I told him this story, he immediately apologized. He said, “"If I ever did anything to make you scared or upset, I am sorry. Can you forgive me?”
I was stunned.
As I get older, my mother laments how much I’m “just like my father.” She says this as an insult but it actually feels like a compliment. My father provided excellent support for our family, he was supportive in the things that mattered in this capitalist society. He taught me to swim and play tennis, both of which I have forgotten now. He comes with me if I want to go for a walk in the park. He never asks me for anything.
Abbu, do you want to go to Turkey with us this summer?
Abbu, do you want to get sushi?
Abbu, do you want to go to the park to listen to the birds?
Abbu, do you want to go to the gym with me?
When I told him I am writing again, he asked how much I make.
I said not much.
He said, keep going and see where it takes you.
A Question for You
Have you told someone how much they mean to you? You don’t need to write a 1000-word essay but you can say something. It doesn’t cost anything to say something good.
If you have a father in your life, or you’re a father, or you wish to be a father one day, and would like to support me in writing, please consider making a gift here. I donate most if not all of the money.
If you’re curious for more, here’s part one where I write about my father-in-law.
I am incredibly blessed that I have not one but two fathers who have taught me many lessons. My dads are what it means to be a Muslim man: generous, good, believing, and disciplined.
Another tangential comment: My mother asked him to quit smoking cigarettes when I was a child and he stopped the next day. I’m sure this was hard. Who can quit an addiction like that?
If you want to learn more about gender relations in Islam or the topic of social roles, please message me and I can send a list of recommended readings.
There are probably dozens of other lessons within a single lesson. My father always said the kids who were too smart always thought they were smarter than everyone, and they amount to nothing. Just be good enough, he said, and keep doing the work.
I really enjoyed reading this. It was very nicely written. Our Abbu’s are truly our hero’s! Allah has truly blessed us. Alhamdulilah.
I love this so much, Sadia!! I think I like it more than the one about your father in law