My father was an uneducated intellectual, he was born in the post-Ottoman Levant (look it up) living the 14th century pastoral life in a one room shack with no running water, eking a living through shear will from stubborn mountainside.
Though his dad died when he was 12 and he had to leave school to support his mom and older brother, he taught himself how to read, taught him English and French.
By age 25, he had become a modern man, bought a car, a television, and raised a family. And though he never got rich, he lived a richer life than many millionaires. He wasn’t all that religious, but had a stronger moral compass that many clergymen.
He believed in right and wrong. He believed in good and evil. He lived his life for its legacy not its pleasures.
Though he was the younger sibling, he was the patriarch of the family. He understood his role as a role model to the next generation, he never lied, he faced events as they came with nary a complaint. He never blamed others. He was a man.
When he died in 2003, the whole town cried at his funeral. They told us, his kids, the best thing one can ever hear: “Simon was a good man”.
