After a few short months we moved into an apartment in Oak Park very close to family and friends. Work slowly improved and we settled into a period of relative quiet and peace. I found my new wife to be very attentive especially when it came to taking care of our dwelling. In fact, our place was neater and cleaner than either of our parent's homes.
Not wishing to beat around the bush, I will explain how a very dutiful wife slowly revealed that she suffered from a mental disability commonly known as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. What I noticed at first was that it took her forever to finish her cleaning and I would spend the evenings we stayed home alone on the couch until just before bed time. Eventually, she stopped joining me at all. Little alterations in her routine were met with bouts of frustration. Changes began to take place. One small example was the garbage can in our bedroom next to the night stand. I noticed that shortly after I used it, she would have to go and empty it. I felt as if I was causing her more work by using it so I stopped and used the kitchen or the bathroom can. One day I came home and it was simply gone.
She continued to spend more and more time cleaning, even when we became pregnant with our first child. Later I came to understand that it is caused by an over abundance of a chemical in the brain (usually inherited) called Serotonin. This causes the inflicted person to obsess of course and it is generally accompanied by repetitive behavior and hoarding.
The Lord blessed us with a beautiful baby girl we named Lindsey in December of 1987. She was the first grandchild on both sides of the family and was doted on profusely by all including us. Well, it would seem that shortly after birth the female mechanisms are all in place and ripe to get going again so we once again became with child when Lindsey was just a few months old. It was time for us to get a house and toward this end work was going well enough to allow it to happen.
We purchased a place in Southfield and I made certain that it was within the confines of the better Birmingham school district. In March of 1989, the family increased by one with the arrival of little Megan. Things at home however worsened considerably due to the fact that Lamea now had not only a larger home to keep, but four people to care for including herself......
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The marriage.... Part-1
We were married in 1985 surrounded by friends and family. It is a wonder that we had made it that far because there had been tremendous pressure from her side of the fence to make things official. As a people I must characterize Arabic folks as a deeply passionate people. Emotions run very high all of the time and on a scale of 1-10 they are always at 10 in terms of driving towards the objective of the moment. They are also a very traditional people and long engagements are virtually unheard of, in an effort of course to head off things that could go wrong and possibly impune the reputation of the couple, especially the woman. It can be exceedingly difficult to marry off a daughter or sister who was previously engaged as the merchandise may already have been taken for a ride if you catch my drift. I was adament however that I would finish college before I married fearing that I would invariably be forced into choosing between the equally important tasks of becoming a full time provider and a college graduate. The latter of course would determine the level of my ability to fulfill the first.
In the end, I compromised and we married prior to my final semester. This was achieved in part by living with my folks at the start. Now, please bear in mind that I have always been a person vested with quite a bit of luck..... unfortunately, all of it was usually BAD luck. It was winter of 1985 and the nation was in the midst of a grand recession. All around us belts were being tightened and companies were reducing workforces or maintaining the status quo. People who could retire were afraid to.....blah, blah, blah.....sound familiar people of 2009?
In the end, I compromised and we married prior to my final semester. This was achieved in part by living with my folks at the start. Now, please bear in mind that I have always been a person vested with quite a bit of luck..... unfortunately, all of it was usually BAD luck. It was winter of 1985 and the nation was in the midst of a grand recession. All around us belts were being tightened and companies were reducing workforces or maintaining the status quo. People who could retire were afraid to.....blah, blah, blah.....sound familiar people of 2009?
Who am I?
My name is Fabian...
My name as well as my life was a gift to me by two of the most wonderful people I have ever known....my parents. The aforementioned start of my life took place in Buenos Aires, Argentina in the year 1963 nearly three years after the birth of my only sibling Patricia.
Having been possessed of a tremendous yearning for the opportunities that existed in the USA for as long as he could remember, my father Mauricio sold nearly all of what little we owned and came here to Michigan less than 30 miles from where I now compose this biographical piece of literature. He then began to work day and night in a newly born ritual that would last nearly 30 years. Within six months he had rented an apartment, purchased a used vehicle and saved up enough to bring my Mother, sister and myself to join him. I was 1 1/2 years old and my sister was 4 1/2 when we arrived. Dad had taped suckers and other candies to the walls which instantly put a smile on my sister's (Ptrish as I call her) face but even though I have no memory of it, I am told that I did not recognize Dad and even cried when he approached. How that must have hurt him.... a man who would quickly lay down his own life if it meant that he could prevent any suffering on the part of a family member.
I grew up in Oak Park, Michigan.... a small middle class town with a friendly and diverse population. By the time I graduated in 1981, we had quite the cosmopolitan school. I routinely shared the halls with kids that were Jewish, Christian, white, black, Arabic, Lebanese, Turkish, and more. I'm not sure if I was popular, but I'm pretty sure that I was not a pariah either. I look back on school with fond memories not the least of which were palling around with my circle of friends and of course my first love Bonnie who I am still friends with through the wonders of the Facebook portion of my existence.
Before graduating school and fresh from a break up with Bonnie, I met Lamea Lirato, a young lady about a year older than myself fresh off the boat (or plane that is) from Iraq. She was a very sweet, unspoiled girl, barely aware of how beautiful she was. It would seem that her friend Tassia was in to me and wanted Lamea to see me. At the time I was working at A&P supermarket as a bagger. Well, although Tassia did nothing for me, Lamea seemed to get my motor keenly running. Four years, a conversion to Catholicism, and a Bachelors degree later we were married and on our way. Unbeknownst to me however, the way ahead was bleak and painful.................
My name as well as my life was a gift to me by two of the most wonderful people I have ever known....my parents. The aforementioned start of my life took place in Buenos Aires, Argentina in the year 1963 nearly three years after the birth of my only sibling Patricia.
Having been possessed of a tremendous yearning for the opportunities that existed in the USA for as long as he could remember, my father Mauricio sold nearly all of what little we owned and came here to Michigan less than 30 miles from where I now compose this biographical piece of literature. He then began to work day and night in a newly born ritual that would last nearly 30 years. Within six months he had rented an apartment, purchased a used vehicle and saved up enough to bring my Mother, sister and myself to join him. I was 1 1/2 years old and my sister was 4 1/2 when we arrived. Dad had taped suckers and other candies to the walls which instantly put a smile on my sister's (Ptrish as I call her) face but even though I have no memory of it, I am told that I did not recognize Dad and even cried when he approached. How that must have hurt him.... a man who would quickly lay down his own life if it meant that he could prevent any suffering on the part of a family member.
I grew up in Oak Park, Michigan.... a small middle class town with a friendly and diverse population. By the time I graduated in 1981, we had quite the cosmopolitan school. I routinely shared the halls with kids that were Jewish, Christian, white, black, Arabic, Lebanese, Turkish, and more. I'm not sure if I was popular, but I'm pretty sure that I was not a pariah either. I look back on school with fond memories not the least of which were palling around with my circle of friends and of course my first love Bonnie who I am still friends with through the wonders of the Facebook portion of my existence.
Before graduating school and fresh from a break up with Bonnie, I met Lamea Lirato, a young lady about a year older than myself fresh off the boat (or plane that is) from Iraq. She was a very sweet, unspoiled girl, barely aware of how beautiful she was. It would seem that her friend Tassia was in to me and wanted Lamea to see me. At the time I was working at A&P supermarket as a bagger. Well, although Tassia did nothing for me, Lamea seemed to get my motor keenly running. Four years, a conversion to Catholicism, and a Bachelors degree later we were married and on our way. Unbeknownst to me however, the way ahead was bleak and painful.................
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