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to G-3 rifles, to semi-automatics, Uzis, and AK-47s. There were so many weapons that he had a small brick fort built on our property just to store them. On my fifth birthday, he gave me a key to his fort. It was one of the many tests he gave me to prepare me for life. He often would challenge me, asking, “Where is your key?” I had better have it on me, not in the pocket of the pants I wore last week or yesterday, not somewhere that I couldn’t remember or in the possession of one of the house cleaners or my mother even. He taught me that I had to be responsible for my stuff instead of shifting my weight on to any other person.
    He taught me how to hold each of the weapons. I felt that most of them weighed more than me. He assured me that they didn’t. He taught me how to take them apart, put them back together, and how to clean and load them.
    The first time he took me to target practice, I was five years old. The kickback from the gun in my hand lifted me off my feet and threw me to the ground. Within seconds, he had me stand back up on my feet and begin firing once again. “If you fear the gun,” he said, “you will never be calm enough to hit your target.”
    My father was not a military man, but when I got thechance to travel outside of our estate with him on business or pleasure, he made sure he pointed out Egyptian-made aircraft flying through our skies, German-made watercraft sailing on our waters, Soviet T-54 tanks, and MiG-17 surface-to-air missiles, and more.
    Slowly and carefully, he would say so seriously, this one was designed by Germany, this one was designed by Britain, this one was designed by Israel, this one was designed by Italy, this one was designed by Pakistan. “All of these weapons in this section were manufactured by the Americans,” he would say, pointing.
    “Do you know why they designed and provided these weapons for us?” he would ask me. “Do you know what they want you to do with them?” he would ask. Then he would answer himself. “They designed these weapons so that we could make
their
lives easier. So that you and I would wipe out our
own
family, friends, and countrymen, allowing
them,
the foreigners, to come in and raid and rule
our
land, seize
our
gold, export
our
diamonds, and siphon
our
oils.”
    “Take a look around,” he would say. “Everything we have, some which I acquired through birthright, the rest from hard work, education, blood, sweat, and tears, could be gone in an instant, because it is everything that every man in the world dreams of possessing.
You must fight to keep it.
”
    My father said every son is entitled to inherit what his father earned, but
still
must plan to fight for it. Admire your father but
still
become a man who stands on his own feet and works his own accomplishments and miracles.
    My father said
every
man
will
be pushed to kill something or someone, either to feed himself and his family, or to keep from being disrespected and dominated. “But don’t be eager to kill, son, because when you kill you lose something too.
    “It is better to give life than to give death. It is harder to maintain life than it is to wipe it out. There are unreasonablemen on this earth who are determined not to let you be as you are, live as you are, love as you are, work as you are. They will bring war to your doorstep, like it or not.
    “If you win, good for you and your family, praise Allah. Enjoy the peace.
    “If you lose, lay low, go underground, go slow, rebuild and regroup and come again.
    “If they take your land, gold, diamonds, and oils, let them have it for the moment while you think, reposition yourself, regain your strength, plan, and purpose. But never allow them to take your women, your children, or your family or you will be defeated forever.”
    My father said and did a whole lot of incredible things. His voice is louder in my ear than my own.
    He taught me that women are one hundred percent emotion. Love them, but don’t obey them. A man