The early 2000s were a simpler time: Cell phones still flipped and Facebook logins required an active college email address. As a college senior in 2002, life was steady and strikingly unremarkable. Until my parents voluntarily went back to Afghanistan.
Still, all of this occurred in a faraway land with faraway people. By the time I left for college, Afghanistan was no more a part of my daily life than the peak of Mount Everest or the Palace of Versailles.Then the towers fell, and Afghanistan — the focus of my parents' life work — was on every American's lips.
I laughed, equally filled with relief and regret. That joke about Chicken Street, referencing a shopping hub in Kabul, was as old as I was.Before they set off, it was decided that I'd come back home for the duration of their trip to be with my brother, who was a senior at a public school in a suburb of Boston.
She nodded and I nodded and then he nodded. We all nodded. The papers slipped back into the envelope.In a daze, I wandered upstairs. How did this suddenly feel real? How had they talked to lawyers and only now pulled me into the loop? That life insurance policy had changed everything. The reality of their trip to a war-torn country was laid out in stark contrast to our regular lives. And I would be the one in charge."They have a life insurance policy. I just saw it.
They called from the road. Dad marveled at how much lighter cameras had gotten since 1981 and talked about eating chicken on Chicken Street. Mom was thankful she'd packed enough peanut butter for 10 days.The end of their trip dawned. I knew, generally, when their almost-24-hour flights ended, but with time zones it was still unclear when the flights began.
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