With only a few days before my dad would arrive in Jordan, I only had a basic framework of what we might do. Admittedly, I usually opt to let others do planning when it comes to vacation. (In the context of Jordan, it is even more likely that I will spend vacation days scheming up new ideas for work in between reading, movies, and basketball in the lovely city of Salt.) Still, after acting as a mentor and teacher of a deafblind student for more than 2 years, I wasn't too worried about the stresses of putting together an enjoyable 10 days.
Also, it should be noted that I don't appreciate history, nor am I especially knowledgeable about...well, anything besides the work I have been doing. The prospect of acting as a tour guide is an embarrassing one, unless I am in my element (with Mohammed by my side). I was confident, though, that my father would be rather forgiving in this respect. Still, I am no stranger to awkwardness, and it simply feels right to visit Roman ruins and provide insightful commentary along the lines of, "Father, direct your attention to the columns over there. You'll note that they are old. Older than you, in fact." Or, even better, reading a sign that my dad missed, then imparting knowledge as if I'm utterly familiar with the Byzantine period.
Really, it is pitiful how little I know of Islam, Jordan, or even Christianity in the Middle East. I don't hold myself accountable to be an expert. I was more concerned with sharing my experience. And there have been a lot of experiences.
I wanted my dad to see what it looks like to communicate with a young man who is deafblind. To see all the ways that development needs to occur. To see braille and tactile calendars and a signed chapel service, including songs translated into sign. To see me fumble with Arabic at a market. To see me utilize Arabic adequately on the bus, in a restaurant, and with friends. To see the magnificent chaos of driving in Amman. I wanted my dad to see things he could never see elsewhere.
I wanted my dad to eat hummus, falafel, kebabs, ripe pomegranates, mutabbel, fattoush, fresh bread, knaffeh, tabouleh, and many other things that spellcheck doesn't recognize. To ride on a raucous party bus, blasting Arabic ballads for 5 hours while the shabab echo lyrics and dance in the aisle, unaware that their skinny elbows are colliding with my skull as they vie to impress the young British girls sitting a row ahead of me. And, I wanted my dad to help me actually take a vacation. He accomplished this mission.
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| With Mohammed, as he eagerly anticipates going home for a long vacation. |
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| At the Roman Amphitheater in downtown Amman. This was after a stop at Hashem's Restaurant for some of the best falafel and hummus that Jordan has to offer. |
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| Jerash, one of the many places that I know nothing about. |
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| After getting cornered by a volunteer who was speaking gibberish about a king's head and music stone, we allowed him to take our picture. |
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| A nice stroll (of the possibly hundred+ kilometers we walked over the course of this holiday), was along this beautiful colonnade in Jerash. |
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| Not sure if bored, content, or confused... |
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| A nice morning dip in the Dead Sea |
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| We happened upon a friendly ginger. Was wonderful to see Peter Miller again. |
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| After failing to find an Ethiopian place, we settled for Pad Thai. |
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| Walking through a market in the Old City. |
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| Bedouins in Wadi Rum. |
It was a great series of adventures, misadventures, exhaustion, and plenty of learning. Thanks for coming, dad. Love you. Peace.
