To understand my dad, I needed to learn about the day he was shot
Al Jazeera
My father was shot while reporting on the second Intifada. I went on a journey to meet the man who saved his life.
“Shoulders!” I begged. “Shoulders! Shoulders!”
As a child, I loved to ride on my father’s shoulders. Sitting up there, I rubbed the bald spot on his head. “From seeing too much,” he explained of the hair loss.
Then, I poked at the small crater the size of my thumb just above his right shoulder.
“Daddy, tell me the story again,” I asked, “of how you were shot.”
Later, I would retell the story to every elementary school friend – and stranger – who would listen.
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