I actually remember the moment I met my father in startling detail.
Exhausted, I had fallen asleep on a couch in a waiting room at the American embassy in Damascus, Syria. A thin, pale man in thick glasses woke me. He was smiling. Mama was sobbing. He hugged me and my mother hugged him. Dazed, I held on to his hand as we walked outside into a sea of people, all cheering and shouting their congratulations.
The cameras flashed constantly, hurting my eyes. I noticed that despite his smile, my new father flinched at the noise and the lights. I wondered at his hand shaking in mine.
