Exam style question

Exam Question – Baba’s diary entry

Today, I experienced one of my proudest moments as a father, the kite-flying tournament. Every year is bigger and better than the last, although the same feeling never goes away. I still remember my first year, the exhilaration of the kite floating violently in the wind, as if it were a golden eagle, swooping down on its prey. That feeling will never go away, being in power of such a glorious machine, the red of the fabric contrasting against the white, silky snow.

Of course, my first year wasn’t the most successful, though every year I progressed, slowly, acquiring new skills from each of my fallen enemies. Then one year, a blue kite plummeted from the sky, followed by a green, another blue, a yellow as bright as the sun on a steaming, sweaty summers day. It was just me against one more kite, and what my glorious son Amir did today, was exactly how I handled it. Closed my eyes, and cut, cut through the string like the eagles teeth slicing through the meat of its victim.

Today, I could hardly believe my eyes, when my own son Amir, cut through that final kite. I knew that he could do it, that if he set his mind to something, he could achieve it, and become a real man. He has something to be proud of, he has something to his name, and most importantly, he has something that other men will respect, and look up to him for. He will never appear za’eef, “weak”, in front of his enemies.

And that is something any father would be proud of.

Of course, Hassan caught the kite, he has the winning trophy to share, and I am equally proud of him as I am of Amir. He has never been perfidious toward Amir, he said himself that he would get the kite, and sure enough he did. I just hope Amir can always be as loyal to Hassan; I’d never want two brothers to have any kind of hatred, even if they are ignorant to that fact that they are related by blood.

I don’t think I will ever forget the look on Amir’s face when he sliced the kite, his face filled with jubilation, and embracing Hassan with both of his arms. Like true brothers. And of course, like a loyal brother, Hassan went to find the kite, his feet pacing, tearing over the ground. Amir reaped the rewards of becoming a champion, he shook a multitude of hands, took embraces from people he’d never known but now wanted to know him. But before all of that, before he’d even acknowledged the colossal number of people that wanted to felicitate his triumph, he looked at me. Straight at me, to see my reaction and for those few seconds that our eyes met he seemed almost inert. It was like nothing in the world mattered more than being accepted, but honestly, I could not figure out why. I am his father, I’ve always treated him like my own and I’ve never given him anything less than would be expected. In fact, I’ve given him a great deal more than any other father I have encountered. I’ve always bought him the kite he wanted, even if it was the most extravagant kite in the entire shop.

It’s not like I’ve ever treated Hassan better than Amir, in fact, I’ve always done my best to try and treat them equally. When Amir asked for a bigger kite, his happiness was evanescent, where as when I purchased the same kite for Hassan, he was euphoric, and deeply grateful.

I just keep questioning myself to whether it’s because … well, of his mother. My angelic wife, my dearly beloved. I cannot stop myself thinking that maybe Amir blames himself for passing. I have never influenced him to think this. Maybe I’m just making a mountain out of a molehill; of course a child is going to want to see their parent’s face when their time of victory has arrived. But it was something in his eyes, like a great weight had been lifted off of his weary shoulders.

I felt the same feeling when he returned home with Hassan, after retrieving the kite, the trophy. When I saw my little winner’s face, a smile plagued mine. I opened my arms and embraced him. Then what shocked me most of all, was that he began to weep, slowly, softly in my arms.

I’d always known my Amir to be a little over emotional, I once took him to a Buzkashi tournament, and when one of the chapandaz fell off of his saddle, Amir began to cry. The chapandaz was hurled around in the stampede, and lay inert on the ground. I was disappointed in Amir when he started to cry, but maybe I should have known that he would be a little too sensitive towards this type of sport.

I cannot understand why he would have wept today, he has won one of the most coveted trophies in Kabul, if not the most important tournament. He has his male pride, surely that’s all that matters?

Baba