To My Son

To My Son

To My Son

It’s the beginning of Summer. Warm and sunny and I’m sweating with you on my shoulders, walking all the way down Helena St.

I sing some Arabic songs to you. Egyptian children’s songs such as the lady with 12 children who wants ‘tut’, a word that covers most berries really. You would laugh and say ‘tut’. Or I’d sing the ‘lebetingana bukhal lebetingana bukhal, lebetingana buuukhaat!’ Or a hum of Kalinka, fast paced.

And then I run with you and you laugh and laugh hold on as tight as possible.

In my right arm I extend the camera as far out as possible and take this shot.

That’s what we do.

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