My father gently knocked on my lilac-painted bedroom door and peered through the gap.
“Which restaurant should we go to today?” he whispered in a warm, comforting voice.
Without hesitation, I responded, “InterContinental Sydney buffet, Dad!”
This was the type of weekend I most enjoyed. Our Sunday family tradition of going to the hotel’s five-star buffet lunch allowed us to feel a sense of belonging and a deep family connection.
Tania’s dad Bass, 20, working in his very first pizza shop in Lidcombe, western Sydney in 1982. Source: Supplied
I leapt out of bed and eagerly began putting on my favourite velvet suede dress. We got into my father’s car, and he played Edith Piaf’s “Non, je ne regrette rien” in the background. On the way, our parents asked us our times tables, to ensure we were learning something useful.
“Seven times seven?” Mum called out from the S-Class leather seats in front.
“Forty-nine!” my sister competitively responded, seeking affirmation from my parents.
In hindsight, I wonder if my parents ever truly knew the answers themselves. After all, their entire schooling was during the Lebanese civil war. Yet they still understood the importance of education and always reminded my siblings and me of its significance.
“Five times five?” my dad contributed.
“That’s too easy,” I replied. “Give me a harder one, Dad!”
My father and his family needed to make money as soon as they arrived in Sydney. With only a few dollars in their pockets, they were hungry for success, like many immigrants are. They were young, ambitious, loving, passionate, determined and optimistic about their Australian future.
The Kanaan clan in 1973. Source: Supplied
They ran pizza restaurants together and soon became known as the most generous five brothers in Sydney.
“One pepperoni pizza please, Bass!” a customer would call out.
“Sure, Kate!” my dad would enthusiastically reply.
“Sorry, Bass, I don’t have enough to pay for it this week. Is next week okay?” another would ask.
“Of course, don’t mention it!” came my father’s response. Afterpay before Afterpay.
This level of love and care for others set the foundation for my family in Australia. After school, my friends and I often shared snacks in our living room.
Once, my mum popped her head in and asked, “Would you like some more nipples?”
My heart dropped into the depths of my core from embarrassment. Why did my mum’s English need to be sooooo bad? My friends shamelessly erupted into laughter.
I instantly reconsidered my friendship group, contemplating befriending some peers who also had immigrant parents.
“Nibbles, Mum!” I said, trying to comfort my sweet mother.
In hindsight, I realised my parents took us to fancy places growing up, not because they could afford it, but because they wanted us to experience and have what they were never able to.
Bass welcomes Tania’s first child and his first grandchild in 2021. Source: Supplied
I made the internal promise to myself at age 11 that my main objective was to make my parents proud. I wasn’t interested in being popular or going to every birthday party. I decided that every life decision I made would need to ultimately make them proud. I wanted them to feel that every sacrifice they ever made was worth it. It was the best way for me to say thank you to them.
In 2008, my college principal invited us to vote for our Year 12 leaders.
“Pick someone who represents your college with pride,” he advised.
We all wrote down our top two male choices and top two female choices.
Later, the principal reached into his chequered grey suit jacket and pulled out a charcoal handkerchief to clear his nose. “Please give a round of applause to Tania, your 2008 College Captain!”
My jaw descended approximately 10 centimetres.
Could this be true? No, surely, they made a mistake with the vote count.
The principal walked over and reached his hand out to shake mine, and congratulated me. Tears instantly rolled down my cheeks. I was thinking about the joy that this would bring my parents. I felt like a lotus flower being reborn out of mud. It was as though everyone could see me. I felt accepted and validated.
At the end of the school day, I rushed home. I started to envision my parents’ reaction and I became increasingly more emotional. Both my parents were already waiting at the front door.
“Mabrouk, Tania!” they unanimously sang out in Arabic, their eyes filled with tears of joy.
Little did I know that the principal had already informed them via a letter a couple of days prior and they had had to keep the news to themselves.
“We have been dying to tell you!” Mum said.
“Well done, Tania! You’re the school captain!” Dad said.
I guess all those pepperoni Afterpay pizzas were worth it.
Giving back to immigrant parents – is there anything like it? Pure joy.
Tania Kanaan is a writer and educator. She is an English literature major and in her spare time enjoys playing piano, creating floral designs and walking her groodle, Paddington.
