My First and Last Attempt to Debate My Dad

When I was in high school (and college) I had long hair. I looked like a bum, because I thought it was cool, and it’s funny because I was basically trying hard to look like I wasn’t trying at all.

Anyways, I looked like a bum to my very well-dressed father; let me put it to you this way: he doesn’t own a pair of jeans. He looks at me, as we were getting into the car so he could drive me to soccer practice and he just goes: “Osama, why do you always look like a bum? You are always wearing sandals, it’s not nice, habibi.”

So, I reply: “Well, Jesus wore sandals.”

My father says nothing. I rejoice. I feel that at 15, I have finally conquered my father, defeated him with a one-liner, and basked in my glory as we drove to my practice.

My father drove a mile past my practice, and I was like, “Dad, you missed the turn…” He just nods, indicating that he knew.

He pulls over the car, and says to me: “get out of the car.”

I’m like “what? Why?”

He tells me to get out. I get out. He tells me to the close the door. I close the door. He lowers the window and says:

“Jesus walked everywhere, too,” and then drove away.

I had to run to my practice to get there on time, and learned to never try and outsmart my father ever again.