Aung San Suu Kyi was only 2 when she lost her father. But she never let his dream die. She continues to fight to bring alive his dream of a democratic Burma. #myfatherillustrations
Join us at www.facebook.com/myfatherIllustrations
Today’s #myfaterillustration is about India’s boxing champion and Olympic bronze medallist MARY KOM. Amidst many hardships, most importantly poverty, Mary’s father encouraged her to chase her dreams.
It was a lazy afternoon when the sun was hiding behind the layers of the curtain. My eyelids were soaked with thoughts, deep thoughts. That’s when you arrived…my sweet siesta.
Happy Mother’s Day – a touching write-up by Asma, young girl from Afghanistan
My mother is the most crucial person in my life. She is the only person who supports my siblings and me, pushing my siblings and to be educated.
My mother’s childhood was spent in a village in Nangarhar in the eastern region of Afghanistan. After school, she decided to study at university, so she went to Russia. There she married an Afghan student, my father, and my sister was born. She was sad when she came back to Afghanistan and heard that her father had died.
I was one year old when the Taliban came to Afghanistan. Five years later, my father died. My mother didn’t leave me and my siblings alone. She tried her hardest to make our future bright. She was and still is both our mother and father.
As of today, two of my sisters are married. One is a dentist and the other a businesswoman. Two of my other sisters and both my brothers are studying at university. And I am studying at school.
I am proud to have a mother who didn’t lose hope when told she was “a woman and couldn’t do anything.”
I want to be a leader of my beloved country and support my poor people. My mother took my hand and walked with me to encourage me.
[Asma is a student of SOLA, school in Kabul]
Join us at mY FaTHer illustrations for more stories!
This is such a beautiful write-up by Graham Lettner for mY FaTHer illustrations
Little Public Joys by Graham Lettner
Marya was born early in July and for that month we stayed with my wife’s
parents. At first, we remained close to home and received many visitors, but
later in the month we made our first outings as a family. First, it was a trip to
the clinic for Marya’s first doctor appointment. A few days later, we delivered
flowers to the nurses at the delivery ward and applied at the registry for Marya’s
As a new dad, proud to be so and already attached, I didn’t want to carry Marya
about in her detachable car-seat after we arrived at each place. I wanted to hold
her in my arms. Each time after we’d park the car I’d uncover her from under
blankets, unbuckle her, and pick her up to carry her with us.
In doing so I experienced the small, public joys of going about with a newborn.
As we climbed the stairs to the doctor’s clinic, two elderly ladies on their way
out gestured to us to stop. They said, “We want to see your baby—she’s so
small!” And then, aside and to each other, “You hardly ever see one so new.”
As we walked across the hospital parking lot to the main entrance, a man, likely
with grandchildren of his own, intercepted us. “She’s a little button—a little
darling,” he said. “First one? Well then, good luck to you both.”
At the registry office a mother with her own daughter, perhaps two years old,
sat down beside us. “I remember when she would curl up in my arms like that,”
she said. “It’s a special age.”
Invariably, wherever our fledging family went, some small joyful sighting was
made on our behalf.
Almost a year later, I was out grocery shopping on my own; Marya and mom
were together at home. Having just found the last items on my grocery list, I
was headed toward the check-out when I saw a man and woman pushing their
cart up the aisle towards me. Upon the woman’s chest, bundled in black cloth
and unmistakeable in its smallness, was a sleeping baby.
I stopped my cart and asked softly, “How old?”
“Three weeks,” the woman said, smiling. The man smiled, too. Intuitively and
without hesitation I had caught sight of the joy of these two parents with their
“Congratulations,” I said, and I pushed my cart on, eager to get home to Marya
Link to Graham’s blog http://atdaybreak.wordpress.com/author/glettner/