Everyone has a funny story about the time their parents first caught them drinking.
For me, I was in high school. My mom called my Jido (grandfather) to come talk to me because she didn’t know how to deal with it.
My Jido was always the man with a glass of wine in his hand and a fully stacked bar in his basement. I thought it was hilarious that my mom was getting my Jido of all people to give me what I thought would be a stern talking to about drinking.
My Jido picked me up in his sturdy Volvo on a rainy Saturday morning. Whenever he would drive, he would always request that I sit in the front seat with him. Even if there were more senior people in the car. He would say that he wanted me at the front with him.
We went to White Spot, a restaurant that he had an affinity for that I never really understood. But it was close by and reliable. I was sitting with anticipation and wondering what he was going to say.
He said: “so, you were drinking!” I probably turned very red and was embarrassed not really at what I had done, but that I got caught. “Yeah…” I said quietly, and didn’t say anything more.
He laughed. “How many drinks did you have? 1, 2, 6, 10?”
I was a bit taken aback. I was not expecting it to start like this.
“Maybe like… 3 or 4,” I said. I was a huge lightweight, to be honest. That was enough to get me going.
“Well that’s fine!” he exclaimed. “As long as it’s not 10!”
I burst out laughing and the tension was broken. For some reason, I didn’t think this what my mom was expecting him to do. He continued.
“People used to caution me about having a bar in my basement while having kids. They said I needed to lock it, because my kids would steal from me. But I never did. I left it wide open. And that’s why they never took anything.”
I thought that was interesting. As a teenager, I had to admit there was some truth there. The seduction of teen drinking was that it wasn’t allowed.
“But you need to understand the purpose of drinking with people,” my Jido continued. “It’s not to make a fool of yourself. It’s not to lose control. It’s not to act like a ja7sh!” I laughed at this.
“When you share a drink with another person, you are connecting your souls. It is so you can open your soul to another.”
That was the kind of person my Jido was. He was personable. He was very passionate about human connection and trying to understand others and where they are coming from. It was no surprise that the wine he would bottle himself contained a label with a quote from Kahlil Gibran reading: “And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup.”
My Jido wanted things to be meaningful, not careless. Yes, enjoy yourself. Yes, indulge a little. But never lose control or lose sight of your purpose.
I remember my first big breakup in high school. It was hard, to say the least. My family was close with the family of my then-boyfriend, and were all very familiar with him. They asked about him very regularly.
I went for lunch with my Jido to Lombardo’s; an Italian restaurant a few blocks away from his business that he regularly frequented. My Jido often sat beside me rather than across from me due to his hearing difficulties.
“So,” he began. “How’s [name redacted]?”
I was going to say we broke up, but instead I just started crying. I was not really prepared to have this conversation. But my Jido immediately understood. He knew which kind of demeanor to shift to: light hearted and fun to empathetic and understanding, ready to give me the advice I needed.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said. “Love is misery.”
Again, not really an answer I expected. But it intrigued me, and I let him continue.
“Don’t get me wrong, love is a beautiful thing. But love is also misery. And when you agree to love, you agree to the misery that it contains.”
My Jido counseled me, hosted me, and most of all, he was my friend. He valued nothing more than to have his family and friends over to his home to enjoy my teta’s cooking, followed by a game of billiards and a glass at his bar.
For all of you that were lucky enough to spend time with him at his bar, you will have noticed that he hung three of his proudest recognitions beside it: one from the Lebanese Society for promoting Lebanese spirit and culture, one from the Immigrant Services Society recognizing his volunteer work on their board, and one from the Canadian government recognizing his contributions to his Canadian compatriots. These plaques provide a glimpse into who my Jido was. He was proud of where he came from and passionate about helping new immigrants in Canada find their way. He loved to share his culture with everyone. When I was young, he taught me how to write my name in Arabic, and I can still remember the excitement on his face when I learned the whole alphabet. But he also embraced the society he came to. He was a proud Canadian, and truly strove to embody Canada’s espoused values of multiculturalism and inclusion. I learned more about the Canadian government from him than I did in high school.
As I mentioned, my Jido was known for his enjoyment of taking his family and friends out for one on one lunches. For those of you who have experienced these one on one lunches with him, you know that he used these times to connect with you and to make you feel special. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it.
Once, a man even came into his office at what we call the Shop - my Jido’s small printing business - and attempted to rob him with a knife. My Jido talked him down, and then even took this man out for lunch and ended up befriending him! He truly had a way with words and knew that a little bit of kindness would go a long way. He gave his life to helping others and his community, from his lengthy list of volunteer work to ensuring that everyone in his life felt loved.
As a young man and a new Canadian, he was proud of his printing business that he built with his family. Growing up and spending my days at the Shop, where he worked with my uncle Joe, my mom and my uncle Michael, I got to experience more of his love for people and connection with his community. Going for a short stroll down commercial drive to a coffee shop or restaurant, it was always the case that someone would recognize him and excitedly say hello. He would always proudly introduce me.
Jido worked at the Shop from the time he bought the place, until the very end. While I know he continued to enjoy the work, I think we all knew the reason he showed up every day was to see his family and friends: his two kids, his brother who would still drop by for lunch years after retiring, his grandchildren who would pop in from time to time, and his old friends who owned businesses on the drive.
My Jido had an influence on all of us. He taught us to speak with conviction and to stay true to ourselves. Sharing my accomplishments with him was one of my greatest pleasures. He was someone you knew was always rooting for you, and someone that was on your side. He would have done anything for his family, and he stayed involved in his many communities as long as he could. What he would want from us is to stay together and support each other while we mourn and remember him. He has taught us all the value of uplifting one another, and the value of mutual respect. He was the embodiment of love and service.
We can honour my Jido’s legacy by treating people like they matter and by living with integrity. We can honour him by always standing up for what is right, by having self-respect, and by loving our family and friends. We can honour him by enjoying our lives, building companionship with those around us, and giving back to our communities. It is in these ways that my Jido will never really leave us. He has built a long-lasting legacy and instilled his spirit and values inside of us all.
I know my Jido would want us not to despair, but to remember him. It is a loss of someone who we all cherished and left a lasting impact on our lives. In our sadness, however, we can find beauty. We can come together and share our memories of my Jido and take solace in the fact that he lived a full life and left the world better than he found it.
One of the things I’ll always remember my Jido for was his love of reading, writing, and reciting poetry. His favourite book was The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, which he gave out to many people. He would also give out Gibran’s Broken Wings and my personal favourite, A Tear and a Smile. I believe he gave us these books when he saw that we would benefit from their words. He left us to study their pages, and draw our own conclusions. So, as he left many of you to ponder over the words of Khalil Gibran, so will I:
“I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart
For the joys of the multitude.
And I would not have the tears that sadness makes
To flow from my every part turn into laughter.
I would that my life remain a tear and a smile.
A tear to purify my heart and give me understanding
Of life's secrets and hidden things.
A smile to draw me nigh to the sons of my kind and
To be a symbol of my glorification of the gods.
A tear to unite me with those of broken heart;
A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence.
I would rather that I died in yearning and longing than that I live Weary and despairing.
I want the hunger for love and beauty to be in the
Depths of my spirit,for I have seen those who are
Satisfied the most wretched of people.
I have heard the sigh of those in yearning and Longing, and it is sweeter than the sweetest melody.
With evening's coming the flower folds her petals
And sleeps, embracingher longing.
At morning's approach she opens her lips to meet
The sun's kiss.
The life of a flower is longing and fulfilment.
A tear and a smile.
The waters of the sea become vapor and rise and come
Together and are a cloud.
And the cloud floats above the hills and valleys
Until it meets the gentle breeze, then falls weeping
To the fields and joins with brooks and rivers to Return to the sea, its home.
The life of clouds is a parting and a meeting.
A tear and a smile.
And so does the spirit become separated from
The greater spirit to move in the world of matter
And pass as a cloud over the mountain of sorrow
And the plains of joy to meet the breeze of death
And return whence it came.
To the ocean of Love and Beauty----to God.”