When I was in my early teens I had invented a shot that I called the Fujiyama shot. Essentially it was just a very strong kick but as I wound up for it I would keep saying Fujiyama in a menacing tone which would give everyone notice to clear out of the way. I'm not sure if it was any stronger (or weaker) than my regular shots. I remember one time as I wound up for it the boy in front of me turned his back and when I kicked the ball it hot him smack in the middle of his butt. I later joked that the shear force of it probably made it actually go up his butt.
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...

Comments
Post a Comment