and what I learned from them

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I replied as I was pulling my leg from under the motorbike, trying to stand up. “Is this oil from your engine, or was it already there?” she asked. I wasn’t sure. I think I lost balance as my bike got to a standstill on top of the hill at the intersection, or I might have slid on the motor oil already there.

It was a warm day. I looked up from my laptop screen to a tattoo. A barely legible one from where I was sitting and from where she was standing. Her back to me, picking up her drink. Something drew me to her. I squinted at the darn thing. Too far to read. It was too quick of an encounter for me to react.

To my left, she sat slightly shifted, looking out. Occasionally sipping from a cold drink, her virtual team meeting on her screen was engaging. This woman was so loud that I had no choice but to listen. Obnoxious, I thought! The volume of her towering voice owned the store.

She's straightforward, transparent, vulnerable, and titanium-strong. Holding her coffee in both hands, she told me that no matter how difficult your life turns out to be, you have a choice. You can break down or consider what happens to you as a blessing.

It was a hot day. Noonish. 30+ Celcius. Muggy. An authentic Beirut summer day. If you’ve been, you know what I’m talking about. I’ll attempt to describe this 2021 special blend.

Breathe. Focus. Listen. Explore. Choose. Act.

He carries and has carried many titles. As for many of my friends and me, he's simply Fr. Paul to us. I spent an hour with him in this historic office suite in Bkerke. He wanted to dedicate our time to the issue closest to his heart — education.

I read between the lines and remembered my conversations to try and get wisdom from the fathers I interviewed. They don’t tell stories of being fathers. They are. This is an attempt to squeeze fatherhood from their stories. Here we go.

Hold the coffee. Meeting Nancy was over steak and sauteed vegetables. As we prepared lunch, two Martinis, an intriguing discussion, and air-conditioning, we were isolated from the 42 degrees in Doha.

I was visiting with his parents in Doha. His dad called him to greet me. Ray appeared Slender and tall, shook my hand, said hello, and quickly turned back to attend to whatever he was doing. The parents and I visited. One conversation led to another and another. I wanted to say hello to Ray one more time.

Ah! Her laugh. I can still hear its reverberations. Contagious. Starts deep from the guts and blasts out to a high-pitched giggle. The 6-second roar detoxes your spirit like a 60-minute massage relaxes your body. Happy, clean, pure, and joyful!

Three children buzzing in that suburban house. Each has their own needs, quirks, and wants. And when do they want it? Now. Mamabear is a master juggler. She's a zen master, fearless in her moves, caring, giving, knowing, and elegantly sloppy. At 29, Jeanine surfs life with zest, faith, and laughs.

I’m not big on celebrations, especially birthdays. Let me correct that. I’m not big on loud, distracting parties when I want to celebrate. It is counterintuitive, and I’m sure I’ve missed a lot of fun.

They lived alongside this one traditional family whose customs were like the Lebanese villagers of a century ago. The man woke up at dawn, carried his steel pick, and walked down to the valley to work his orchards at the river bank.

A ball of fire. A bull at work. A big teddy bear at home. I met him through a common friend in Baskinta — a beautiful village in Mount Lebanon. Anthony encouraged me to have a coffee with the man. Fady has a story. A few weeks later, we met at Starbucks.