On the Passing of my Father: Shafqat Ali Khan
In memoriam: Shafqat Ali Khan
English words for Shafqat: Affection, Compassion, kindness, tenderness
Thinking about my dad these last few weeks as I knew he was reaching the end of his life, I struggled with whether I could do any kind of justice to his life with words. I still don’t think I can, but writing has been therapeutic for me and dad’s story is worth being told, so here is my best shot.
Against the wishes of many, he immigrated to the US in search of opportunity and adventure in his mid-20s (Dad is the kind of guy who, once his mind is set on something, it’s pretty hard to convince him otherwise – stubborn is the word I’m thinking of). Soon after, he went back to Pakistan and found his perfect wife, my mother. In learning the story of when they met, I heard my mother was so beautiful, when seeing her, young boys in town would hide behind their mothers so struck by her. She was also pretty legendary in her city due to her incredible intelligence, she graduated at the top of her class and went to the most prestigious university in Pakistan. Without question, my dad’s greatest accomplishment was convincing my mother that it was a good idea to marry him. I’m not sure how it all went down, but my dad was a pretty amazing salesman, a trait I’m proud to have inherited.
Dad was a hustler. He worked more than his fair share of odd jobs: Dominoes delivery guy, manager of a 7-11, People’s Drug (CVS), trading card show wholesaler (I gained a love of sports through collecting Dan Marino, Ken Griffey Jr., and Barry Bonds rookie cards as a result), and eventual entrepreneur using his savings to buy his first gas station in rural Virginia. We followed dad for work down to the southwestern part of the state to open our family’s first gas station and convenient store, “Shop-N-Go”, with hopes that this would be our family’s ticket to fortune. We met many kind people in Grottoes, Virginia, and dad worked tirelessly to build his business. Eventually, Shop-N-Go, was “Shop-N-Gone” (we discovered an N-E added to the sign on a visit after we moved, a result of some prejudice folk in town who were glad we left) because business wasn’t steady enough because of a community not ready for Pakistani neighbors.
After a failed business endeavor in southern Virginia, we were able to get reduced rent for a house back in Northern Virginia from a real estate developer who became like family through the relationship he and my dad built at trading card shows. Seeking stability, he went back to a vocation he studied in Pakistan, becoming a heating and air conditioning technician for a local company. As is like my dad, he was the best at his job. He worked more overtime hours than regular hours, and earned enough for us to make a living. Though we were living paycheck to paycheck and financial struggles weren’t completely lost on us, we never felt poor – dad made sure of that. Dad was good at spending money we didn’t have. Surprising us with the newest video game systems, a nice big screen TV, and even replacing a shattered glass coffee table that I pushed my brother through during a fight. Through all of this, dad found time to take me to baseball practices and games, brag about every one of my accomplishments, photograph and videotape all of life’s events (I could piece together a documentary of my childhood with all the home videos we have), and be a consistent presence in our lives.
Eventually, he turned his expertise in heating and air conditioning into his own small business and our lives became more comfortable financially. His children all went to college and led to meaningful careers, our father’s being the chief documenter of all of our accomplishments. My dad was particularly proud when I was elected student body president at Virginia Tech. I later learned that he ran a failed campaign for student body president at his college in Pakistan and was proud that my election was a vindication for his decades earlier. More than anything, dad loved his kids and wanted the world for us.
Struggle was also a big part of my dad’s life. He had his first heart attack by age 40 and several thereafter. Failed businesses, bankruptcy, and the challenge of assimilating to a new culture in a new country while trying to be a good father and husband took their toll. He would reveal and impatient side of himself and a temper that my family and I would take the brunt of. Coupled with that, my dad had a brash, eccentric, and unusual personality that often clashed with social norms in the US. He spoke his truth no matter what the effect it had on others was, unapologetically himself. He’s the type of person who when a waitress comes by and asks “How’s everything tasting” would respond “It’s salty, I can make it better at home”, not intending to be rude, but because it was his honest truth. These kinds of moments would frustrate and embarrass me as a child, but were pretty endearing the older I got. This was a central theme of my childhood, frustrated with my father's inability to be the perfect father for me. We argued a lot when I was younger and I wished he could be more like a traditional “American” father that my friends had (a picture I later realized was a flawed premise to begin with), but through all of our conflict I never doubted how deeply he loved me.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve seen my father in a new light. His grandchildren have helped him live up to his name of Shafqat. The father I hoped he would be for me growing up, he was as a grandfather. He showed his grandchildren unbridled affection, patience, and love and they loved their “papa” back. Sometimes even our parents need to grow and learn to be able to pass on their best selves. I also have grown to love his “brashness” and ability to live as his authentic self – it’s a lesson that I’ve needed to learn, letting down my guard and becoming more of myself has made me an infinitely happier person. The qualities I’ve inherited from him are the ones I cherish the most: being easily excited, silly, hyperbolic, and hardworking. Growing up, I did all I could to try and be less and less like my father and now wishing I could be more like him. It’s funny how that works.
As shown today at his funeral, people also just loved my dad, a lot. “He was so unique”, “He tells it like it is”, “He was always so kind”, “He was the best uncle, brother, friend” “He wasn’t like the others” “He loved you/them so much”. If these remarks about him from the people in so many parts of him life are any indication, the world needs more people like my dad. If you met my dad, you likely didn’t forget him. If you were around him enough, you loved him.
I’ve spent the final years of his life as an investigator, trying to find out what life was like in Pakistan, the small town he grew up in, his unlikely journey to the US. With every layer I uncovered about my dad’s story, I uncovered something new about myself. Still, I feel like there was so much left to learn from him. I’ve felt a lot of sadness over the last few days, but I think the hardest thing about my dad’s death has been a pretty selfish thought: There are only a few people in your life that hold your story, that reveal your own life, and love you unconditionally – I have one less of those people as of April 13th, 2017. Love you, dad. Until the next time we meet.
-Adeel Shafqat Khan
