PLEASE let me know how it sounds! I still need to end it with how it has shaped me, but I just want to know where it is going.
I have always listened to my father's stories about his childhood back in Lebanon. He was always so excited to tell my brother and I about how great the people are there and how one day he hoped that we could feel the way he did about such a place. He told me about how he grew up in a world where he never wanted to leave, but was always worried that the occasional fighting, going on outside his hometown, would cause him and his family to look for a new home. I never imagined that one day I would be caught in the middle of that world.
A loud blast had shook the building and followed with an explosion. A missile strike had just toppled an adjoining hilltop and a fiery smoke began to tower. Being only ten, I panicked and ran to my hotel room, looking for my mom and brother. Once together, she told my brother and I that we had to flee the chaos and leave Lebanon only a week into our annual three month vacation. With the airport bombed, we were unsure by which route. I was disillusioned, thinking back to what my dad had told me about this wonderful world where he grew up, and so I began to draw away from it.
As an American, born into a traditional Lebanese household, it was a challenge. Trying to blend two contrasting societal foundations, I found myself clashing with both Lebanese values and the American way of life. I questioned being in Sunday school, learning Arabic and singing cultural hymns, which I thought were pointless living in America. Also, I was bothered with spending summer vacations visiting family in Lebanon and not understanding what they were saying. I much preferred the
I have always listened to my father's stories about his childhood back in Lebanon. He was always so excited to tell my brother and I about how great the people are there and how one day he hoped that we could feel the way he did about such a place. He told me about how he grew up in a world where he never wanted to leave, but was always worried that the occasional fighting, going on outside his hometown, would cause him and his family to look for a new home. I never imagined that one day I would be caught in the middle of that world.
A loud blast had shook the building and followed with an explosion. A missile strike had just toppled an adjoining hilltop and a fiery smoke began to tower. Being only ten, I panicked and ran to my hotel room, looking for my mom and brother. Once together, she told my brother and I that we had to flee the chaos and leave Lebanon only a week into our annual three month vacation. With the airport bombed, we were unsure by which route. I was disillusioned, thinking back to what my dad had told me about this wonderful world where he grew up, and so I began to draw away from it.
As an American, born into a traditional Lebanese household, it was a challenge. Trying to blend two contrasting societal foundations, I found myself clashing with both Lebanese values and the American way of life. I questioned being in Sunday school, learning Arabic and singing cultural hymns, which I thought were pointless living in America. Also, I was bothered with spending summer vacations visiting family in Lebanon and not understanding what they were saying. I much preferred the
