Favorite child

Note to self

Fatima looked at me with that familiar smile and asked, “Baba, am I your favorite?”

I tried my usual line, the one about how God makes a parent’s heart big enough for every child. Before I could even finish, she recited it back to me almost word for word. She has clearly heard it many times.

Then she asked again anyway.

“So am I?”

I laughed, and she laughed with me. She said she could tell it was her just from the way I was reacting.

The truth is not that one child is loved more than another. Each invites a different part of my heart to appear.

Fatima has a softness in her nature and a giving spirit that make me protective of her. Being the middle child myself, I see parts of myself in her.

Zaynab has a different presence. She is striking in her own way, and her nature can be strong and difficult at times, though never intentionally. Loving her asks something different from me. It calls for patience and steadiness.

Maryam arrives like a spark in the room. She is playful, spicy, unpredictable, and very different from me. Loving her stretches my heart in ways I did not expect.

None of these loves cancel the others. They simply reveal how many rooms exist inside a father’s heart.

So I told her what felt true.

“Fatima, every one of you has a special place in my heart that belongs only to you. No one can take your place there. Your spot is yours forever.”

She listened carefully and then asked again anyway.

“So am I the most?”

She was smiling when she said it. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was not confused by my answer. She simply wanted to see how far she could push me.

And there was something beautiful about that persistence. It meant she felt safe enough with me to keep asking.

“Am I? Am I?”