In 2016, I said:
“Aw, they are leaving already! And my poor nerd son is smart enough to leave his discussion to the last minute.”
↓ Transcript
It is the next day; the day the deCordoba family is leaving.
Zeynel stands at the doorway, wearing his new purple coat under his old kaftan of dark blue. He looks nervously at the scene before him. His parents are in jovial conversation with Amca Selim and Ayse, the pieces of which he could hear.
His mother, Zeyneb, says, “It was a pleasure being your guests, Selim. You’re a wonderful host.” She places her fingers on her forehead in a gesture of thankfulness.
Selim belly-laughs in reply. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just promise to help me when I’m ill, doctor.”
Zeyneb chuckles. “Maybe I’ll give you a friendly discount. Will you accept a half-off?”
Zeynel quietly slips himself behind his parents and leans crane-like over their shoulders. He twists the straps of his cloth backpack nervously. “An-ne, baba? May I have a word with you… privately?”
Efraim steeples his fingers. “Son, anything you have to say, you can say it here. What is it?”
Zeynel squeaks, jittering in anxiety. “Oh… I-I-I… ”
Feeling the threat of a tearful breakdown, he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in, as he mentally recites numbers to ground himself. One, two, three, bir, iki, ooch.
Zeynel stands at the doorway, wearing his new purple coat under his old kaftan of dark blue. He looks nervously at the scene before him. His parents are in jovial conversation with Amca Selim and Ayse, the pieces of which he could hear.
His mother, Zeyneb, says, “It was a pleasure being your guests, Selim. You’re a wonderful host.” She places her fingers on her forehead in a gesture of thankfulness.
Selim belly-laughs in reply. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just promise to help me when I’m ill, doctor.”
Zeyneb chuckles. “Maybe I’ll give you a friendly discount. Will you accept a half-off?”
Zeynel quietly slips himself behind his parents and leans crane-like over their shoulders. He twists the straps of his cloth backpack nervously. “An-ne, baba? May I have a word with you… privately?”
Efraim steeples his fingers. “Son, anything you have to say, you can say it here. What is it?”
Zeynel squeaks, jittering in anxiety. “Oh… I-I-I… ”
Feeling the threat of a tearful breakdown, he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in, as he mentally recites numbers to ground himself. One, two, three, bir, iki, ooch.
