Back in 1995 when Cindy Lou and I were pretty much newly-weds, our social consciousness was alive and well when our hometown of Dayton became famous for reasons other than automobiles. The war in Bosnia and Herzegovina had been raging for three years as we Americans tried to understand the cultural differences between Croats, Muslims, and Serbs. We Daytonians were particularly honored to have peace talks between these warring peoples held right here in our own backyard at Wright Patterson Air Force Base. It’s still a point of pride to hear about the successful Dayton Peace Accords that brought a version of calm to that part of eastern Europe.
During that time, too, we became aware of refugees trying to get out of that war zone and relocate in the United States. A retired priest at our downtown Episcopal church was working for Church World Services then, a group matching up refugees with local American sponsors. It didn’t take long for us at Christ Church to wade into the fray to see what we could do.
As it turned out, Cindy and I found ourselves at the center of the discussion. After talking with friends and our pastor, I was given the go-ahead to contact the placement people to let them know our church would sponsor a family. Our message was met with gratitude as we were advised it would take perhaps a week or more to get a family from a refugee camp in the Adriatic all the way to us in the Midwest. Good, we figured. That would give us time to iron out a few more details.
Only it wasn’t a week or more, but only a couple of days before we got the call that our family was in the air making their way to us. A couple from church offered a rental home at a very reduced rate, but such wasn’t ready yet. We had to make room -- and now.
So Cindy and I decided our home would have to do for the short term. We only had one bedroom to spare, but we figured it would have to do. As it turned out, our family was Muslim, which further thickened the plot. We knew little about Muslim eating habits as we shopped the El Halal grocery down on Wayne Avenue. We surely didn’t want to offend the newcomers with meat butchered in an unclean way.
The Issa family stayed with us for a little more than a week. As it turned out, diet wasn’t a big deal. They were very pleased with whatever food we could put on the table for their family. And therein is the kernel, or should I say the bean, of this blog entry.
This past Saturday Cindy and I were invited to dinner at the Issa house. To be accurate, we were invited to dinner at Suada Issa’s house. Since 1995, much has happened in this family. Divorce, for one, and growing kids for another.
The oldest boy, Elvin, now a Wayne High School graduate and a proud member of the United States Navy, had just returned from his old hometown of Banja Luka, Bosnia, which he hadn’t seen since he was 8 years-old. He brought back lots of family video for his mother to savor. He also had seen his natural father for the first time since he was 6, and wouldn’t you believe it, was just engaged to a lovely Bosnian girl. Suada invited us over to hear her son’s stories and share a meal.
On the table? Steaks nicely grilled over charcoal, a fresh loaf of bread, some pasta salad, and green bean casserole, complete with mushroom soup and topped with dried onions. I commented on how lovely the meal was, when Suada remembered the first time she had the casserole was at our dining room table so many years ago. It was then that Elvin fondly remembered Sugar Smacks, or Kroger’s version of the same, for breakfast way back then.
I was moved then, as I am now, hearing this hearty bunch of folk remember how we had fed them at the beginning of their American adventure. New foods, new favorites, good new memories.
Again, I find myself blessed to be remembered as part of something peaceful -- and wholesome -- that has given this family an opportunity to live a fuller life. I am honored to have been mindful when others were in need.
Today’s elder idea: ‘I need somebody.’
Alyssa Brown
then a 5 year-old, reaching out for adult friends,
coming out of the dark an hour after going to bed
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