Today was the day I have been waiting for. A day I can be a proud father. A day I can finally say, 'My son Amir, my son, is a winner.' A
mir, the kite-fighter accompanied with Hassan, the kite-runner. Although it is a children's tournament, it was out of all the worthy children in Kabul. He has proven himself to me, with everyone to see. And it was an impressive fight to witness. It may not be boxing or soccer, but it's something. None of this poetry nonsense, an actual man's sport. He was able to show off his intelligence and his physical skill.
The way he sliced those kites down one by one was admirable. A talent only a handful of people in Kabul have. A talent my son has. A talent my son is best at. My favourite moment, a moment I never wish to forget, was the blue kite, the kite that had cut down a majority of the other kites, fell to its fate. I was so sure that kite was going to be the end of Amir's streak. I could see that blue kite, swooping over Amir's and cutting it down. But so much to my surprise, Amir beat the other kite-fighter to the end. And within a few seconds, the blue kite was spiralling to the ground, marking my son's success. Marking my success as a father.
Of course Hassan deserves my credit also. I am so proud of Hassan. The greatest kite-runner in all of Kabul. My Hassan. If I was able to, I would reward Hassan with my love. If I thought Amir wouldn't be jealous. A weakness I wish he'd get over. If I could talk of how proud I was of Hassan, I would tell everyone in Afghanistan. I would tell them of how he ran kites like no one else, and how he and Amir managed to take down every...