How we cite our quotes: Citations follow this format: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #7
Just one month after we arrived in the U.S., Baba found a job off Washington Boulevard as an assistant at a gas station owned by an Afghan acquaintance – he'd started looking for work the same week we arrived. Six days a week, Baba pulled twelve-hour shifts pumping gas, running the register, changing oil, and washing windshields. I'd bring him lunch sometimes and find him looking for a pack of cigarettes on the shelves, a customer waiting on the other side of the oil-stained counter, Baba's face drawn and pale under the bright fluorescent lights. The electronic bell over the door would ding-dong when I walked in, and Baba would look over his shoulder, wave, and smile, his eyes watering from fatigue. (11.28)
This Baba certainly isn't the bear-wrestling, pipe-smoking legend of the first third of the novel. Baba works long hours at a gas station, serving customers, tied to the scourge of all retail salespersons: the electronic bell. Do you think Amir still admires Baba – or has Baba's stature significantly diminished in Amir's eyes? We admire Baba's work ethic and determination. But we also think the magic aura surrounding Baba has disappeared. He seems normal now. He's no longer the all-powerful father driving a Ford Mustang from Bullitt. In fact, now he's working at a filling station pumping gas into other people's cars.
Quote #8
That summer of 1983, I graduated from high school at the age of twenty, by far the oldest senior tossing his mortarboard on the football field that day. I remember losing Baba in the swarm of families, flashing cameras, and blue gowns. I found him near the twenty-yard line, hands shoved in his pockets, camera dangling on his chest. He disappeared and reappeared behind the people moving between us: squealing blue-clad girls hugging, crying, boys high-fiving their fathers, each other. Baba's beard was graying, his hair thinning at the temples, and hadn't he been taller in Kabul? He was wearing his brown suit – his only suit, the same one he wore to Afghan weddings and funerals – and the red tie I had bought for his fiftieth birthday that year. Then he saw me and waved. Smiled. He motioned for me to wear my mortarboard, and took a picture of me with the school's clock tower in the background. I smiled for him – in a way, this was his day more than mine. He walked to me, curled his arm around my neck, and gave my brow a single kiss. "I am moftakhir, Amir," he said. Proud. His eyes gleamed when he said that and I liked being on the receiving end of that look. (11.31)
Does the immigration to America reverse Baba and Amir's roles? Certainly, Amir has an easier time adapting to their new country. And Baba's once-imposing stature diminishes as he works long hours at a low-paying job. The last time we saw Baba proud of Amir, Amir had just won the kite tournament. Baba's admiration for Amir, in that case, lasted only a short time. We suspect, however, that things change permanently at this point. Baba waits around to take a picture of Amir, lost in the crowd. Even more significant is the fact that Amir "liked being on the receiving end of that look." This isn't the longing Amir once had for his father's admiration.
Quote #9
"Hey, man, this guy needs help!" the Filipino man said with alarm. I turned around and found Baba on the ground. His arms and legs were jerking.
"Komak!" I cried. "Somebody help!" I ran to Baba. He was frothing at the mouth, the foamy spittle soaking his beard. His upturned eyes showed nothing but white.
People were rushing to us. I heard someone say seizure. Some one else yelling, "Call 911!" I heard running footsteps. The sky darkened as a crowd gathered around us.
Baba's spittle turned red. He was biting his tongue. I kneeled beside him and grabbed his arms and said I'm here Baba, I'm here, you'll be all right, I'm right here. As if I could soothe the convulsions out of him. Talk them into leaving my Baba alone. I felt a wetness on my knees. Saw Baba's bladder had let go. Shhh, Baba jan, I'm here. Your son is right here. (12.135-138)
We included this quote to show you just how different the Baba of Fremont, California is from the Baba of Kabul, Afghanistan. We feel for Baba when his bladder fails him. This would be unimaginable for the bear-fighter from Afghanistan; the Baba from Kabul wouldn't tolerate his son's tears, much less any weakness displayed by himself. (Not that getting a fatal illness somehow suggests weakness in a person – but the Baba of Kabul, Afghanistan would see it that way.)