​At the dawn of one Monday, the second day of February 1942 (2/2/1942), during the high point of World War II, as the city of Ahvaz was under siege by the Allied forces and was under a curfew from sunset to sunrise, my mother realized she was in active labor and about to deliver me. And it’s my head that tries to enter the world and occupy the space between her thighs. She lies flat on the concrete surface and prays loudly. My father hears her moans, turns over, and no-tices her absence. Reluctantly, he leaves the bed and walks to the courtyard. Mother is on the ground with my head passing through her vagina. My Father quickly takes a towel, supports it, and holds the crown. He watches the neck, shoulders, and upper limbs swiftly exiting the vagina. The abdomen and the rest of my body follow the course. Finally, he shakes his head and mur-murs, “Look, Bibi, this baby’s head is as big as a watermelon.” Now squatting near Mother, my father picks me up and wraps me in a towel.