Last year was the first year I we to work. I was a calligraphy teacher in a girl’s elemeary school and I tried to balance the children’s crab-frog line a little. I begged them and said, “Look, Panisa, we never write “” on the line, “” remains like a semicircle whose edges only rise above the line.” Panisa, Bahar, Melodi, etc. were shaking their heads and pretending to understand. But when I we over their heads to see how they write from the example, it was the same soup and the same bowl.
I was confused. Working with children was not as sweet as I imagined. It couldn’t be all about teaching and it was as if there needed to be bells that could function freely or even play together.
On Mother’s Day last year, I decided not to teach and instead told the kids to bring their own crafts. I also took pen and ink. I used to write the name of each child’s mother on special calligraphy sheets and congratulate them on their day. For example, I used to write: “Mom, my dear Hamira, have a blessed day.” The children each took their paper and stuck it to the postcard they had made.
Me and my searches for Father’s Day poetry
The following week, when I asked the children what their mothers had said, they all said that their mothers’ reactions were very good. Even Bahar said that his mother got emotional and cried after seeing the postcard.
Some time later, when it was Father’s Day, I decided to repeat the same thing. Again ink, pen, cardboard, wreath and… It was a good break for the kids and an excuse to be more creative.
But I did not foresee a job. On Mother’s Day when I did this, none of the children said they didn’t have a mother. That’s why it didn’t occur to me at all that something like this could happen. I we to class with the same meality as before. I would read from the list and the children would jump up and down so that I could read their names first and write their congratulatory text.
But Anna didn’t move from her place and didn’t seem bored. Anna’s last name was Vahdat and it took me a long time to find her name. When I called his name, he forced himself from his seat and came towards me. “Can I say something in your ear?” he said hesitaly.
I nodded my head in approval. Anna came to my ear and said: “I don’t have a father.”
I just realized what I did wrong. I did not understand at all how I reacted, because I was shocked and did not know what to say. Such a thing had never occurred to me and it was probably due to my lack of experience in classroom manageme. Either I should have asked the office earlier or I should have chosen another activity that would not cause the children who do not have pares to suffer.
I hesitated and said: “Well, don’t you wa to congratulate him on this day, for example?” He will see and hear your congratulations in heaven.”
Anna was surprised and said: “Do you really see? Does that mean if I write a letter to him, will he read it?”
“Yes,” I said. He sees you from above and you can talk to him as much as you wa. You can write the letter to him in your own handwriting so that he can see your beautiful handwriting.”
Anna thought a little and said: “Well, madam, can I write a letter to dad, and you write a poem for father’s day on behalf of his daughter?” Then we put both of them in an envelope and send it to Dad. Because my father loved poetry and stories. When I was a child, he used to read Shahnameh to me.”
I had a guilty conscience because of my inatteion to the problem, I promised Anna that I would write any poem for her.
Anna was looking for a beautiful and appropriate poem. The list of children coinued and I had to write congratulations to others. That’s why I told Ana that when it was time to have fun, the two of us should go to the library and find a poem for my father to write for him.
When the bell rang, Anna did not forcefully get up from her couch, but excitedly came to me and hurried to get to the library as soon as possible. We we to the shelf of poems and started digging.
We didn’t have any special order and we ransacked every court we could get our hands on. We were looking for poems for Father’s Day and the words “Father” and “Dad” caught our atteion. Anna took over Rahi Moiri’s couch. He had brought the book close to his eyes and looked carefully between the words. Then he suddenly said loudly: “I found it!”
There was a short Father’s Day poem by Meiri:
“Don’t be ignora of the position of the father/ which is obligatory for the child to respect the father
If the age is proud of your name, do not be proud in the age except in the name of the Father.
But we decided to search further to find better poems. As we were looking, we found a beautiful poem by Seyyed Ali Salehi. The poem was like this:
“Smell, the pleasa smell of father’s shirt
Noon’s hangover nap, the strange aroma of sleep
Mud on the edge, drop, boredom, faucet
What a patie cou
“You’re hurting me, blow me up, dad!”Fan this way
I give it a tired hand
Father smells of sea and wheat and crying
Small and broken stones, pans and pots
It is side by side
Dandruff wet with sweat runs in the ear of the dead man
“You’re hurting me, blow me up, dad!”The smell, the good smell of father’s shirt
A few scattered clouds above the mouain
The old man’s eyebrow feather
The sce of wet mat, fan, buriaAnd life is nothing
That was nothing
It means beautiful and hard
Hard and beautiful and simple
Nice and biting and impatie
Sad walk, bitter smile.
But the problem was that it was too long. I had written Father’s Day greetings to 15 children up to that mome and I was going to write to another 30 studes. I told Anna to skip this one and have mercy on me.
We we to other courts. Of course, in addition to being long, this poem by Salehi was also difficult, and the Father’s Day poem was not childish for Anna’s age. We we to Divan Hafez and hoped that he would hold our hand and leave us a good poem. But we did not find the Father’s Day poem by Hafez and we coinued to search uil we reached Diwan Sohrab Sepehri. Here we found a poem for Father’s Day:
“It was night and the moon and the stars and the candle and me and the dream
Sleep had jumped from my head like a bird song
In the corner of the room immersed in silence
The dream of a long gone life had come before me
I appeared in the world of faasy, father
The pain was be like a bow
His black hair had turned a little white
It was as if the dawn had blown from the horizon of the night
I learned that in the heart of the night a thousand times
My caressing hand was stretched to the head
I we out of my mind to look at him
When did the pleasure of the musician reach this level?
Because the idea of my father disappeared from my eyes
There was a tear on my yellow cheek.
It was not like the poems I had read by Sohrab Sepehri, but it was beautiful. This poem was also a good poem, but Anna insisted that we look for more. The bell rang and I we to the deputy’s office to coinue working. I explained the story to him and their assista also allowed us to stay in the library with Anna to find and write her favorite poem for Father’s Day. It was encouraging that their deputy also understood the situation and was not a strict person.
I we back to the library and saw Anna drowned in one of the books. I lowered my head to see which poet Divan was. It was a selection of Hossein Panahi’s poems. Anna had found a poem about Father’s Day and read it to me:
“N1 hour ago
I saw God
Who is hunched over with his long black coat
coughing
He passed two black cedars in the yard
And he came to the porch where I was standing
I just understood when he sang
I have mistaken my father for him.”
I asked Anna if she likes this poem, it doesn’t matter how long it is and I will write it for her. But Anna seemed to like to coinue reading poems about her father more than to find something to write. I felt it was like that and I waed to accompany him.
Anna also liked to search the Shahnameh to find a poem describing her father. Because as he had said, his father was fond of Shahnameh and read it for him. But the volume of the Shahnameh was large and unfortunately we could not find a poem about Father’s Day. That’s why we searched again uil we came across a book of poems by Rasul Adham. Fortunately, he had written a poem for his father, and his poem was as follows:
“What are you looking for, my father?
Why are you facing the ground so much?
is close
I am afraid of this waist
You have not yet greeted couless suns
Not facing the ground
Stare at the sky
stay straight
The pillar of this house is incomprehensible
Don’t remind him how the destruction of this roof is.”
We looked again, but we didn’t find anything that Anna waed. Anna finally shyly said that she liked Panahi’s poem and if there is no problem, I will write it for her. I also said: “So while I am writing the poem for you, you should start writing your letter too.”
Anna was no longer a fool and was writing her letter with ehusiasm. It was the least I could do for him.
Source: Digikala Mag
