Ofia Begum Ali

They were real conversations about their dreams and their fears and things they never said out loud.

As a kid, I was zoned out while my parents were running errands.

I would tap the buttons on my Game Boy or feed my Tamagotchi.

Meanwhile, my parents were just trying to hold everything together.

They never understood what it meant for me when I would miss school and fall behind on my assignments.

And I never understood what it meant to leave a community that knew how to hold them up and start over in a country that never spoke their language.

One afternoon in the hospital, I asked my father about his favorite memory of school.

And he tells me that he dropped out in the third grade after his dad died.

And like me, he carried his family on his back when he was just a kid.

He smiles and says, I liked making paper crafts.

So I rip off a piece of paper and I say, show me.

He carefully folds the creases until it forms into a paper bow.

And I pretend I don't know so he can take the lead.

And when he's done, I ask him to sign it.

And he forgets the date.

And the advocate in me will never allow him to skip that detail.

So I remind him, never sign your name without the date next to it to avoid any legal issues and avoid being duped.

Now, if I can explain or translate my father's annoyance with me,

It would probably be, even on my deathbed, you're giving me legal advice?

He hands the paper boat back to me.