Random Encounter with an Iraqi driver.

Moving through the streets of Portland. Me in the back of a town car, after a short chat about the weather…

Me: You sound like you’re from the Middle East.

Him: Iraq.

Me: Really? How long have you been–

Him: I left after the first Bush war.

Me: And your family?

Him: Still there. Six thousand of them. Big family. From generations back.

Me: How are they holding up?

Him: Fine. Well enough. Except for my father. He was executed.

Me: Executed. I’m– I’m sorry. Who–

Him: Saddam killed him.

Me: I’m really sorry.

Him: It’s alright. He’s a hero there to many.

Me: Hard way to become a hero.

Him: Yes. Hard on his family. Hard on his children.

(And now for the first time his eyes rise to meet mine in the rear view mirror.)

Me: You’re one of his children.

Him: I am his first son.

(Long silence, then his eyes return to the road.)

Him: Its always hardest on the children.

Me: I’m Jeffrey.

Him: Ali. Your hotel is just ahead.