Algerian boxer Imane Khelif got caught up in controversy after her opponent, Angela Carini from Italy, suddenly walked away from their fight at the 2024 Paris Olympics.
Even though Khelif was born female and identifies as a woman, her participation in the match stirred up a lot of debate.
Now, her father has finally spoken out.
On August 1, during Khelif’s boxing match with Carini, the fight unexpectedly ended when the Italian boxer left the ring early, saying she was experiencing “severe pain” in her nose.
After her opponent left the match, Imane Khelif was automatically declared the winner. But, some people think she shouldn’t compete against other women because she was disqualified from the 2023 world championships for having high testosterone levels.
Imane’s father, Amar Khelif, defended her, expressing pride in her achievements. He said, “Having such a daughter is an honor because she is a champion. She made me proud, and I encourage her. I hope she wins a medal in Paris.” He also mentioned that Imane has loved sports since she was 6 years old.
To clear up any doubts about her gender, Amar Khelif showed an official document that says, “Imane Khelif, female,” dated May 2, 1999. He insisted that this document is the truth.
The controversy led Angela Carini, the Italian boxer, to apologize to Khelif on August 2. She told an Italian news outlet that she was sorry for what happened and that she respects the decision allowing Khelif to fight. Carini explained that she didn’t mean for things to turn out this way and apologized to Khelif and everyone else.
Imane Khelif also spoke out, asking people to stop bullying athletes. She told SNTV, “Bullying can destroy people’s spirits and minds. It can divide people, and that’s why I’m asking everyone to stop doing it.”
Despite all the controversy, Khelif’s story shows the tough challenges athletes face when they’re under public scrutiny. Her father’s support and her own request for kindness remind us how important it is to show respect and understanding in sports.
As the debate goes on, Khelif is still focused on her goal of succeeding in the Olympics and making her family and country proud. The journey hasn’t been easy, but with her father’s encouragement and her own determination, she aims to overcome these challenges and continue on her path as a champion.
MY 12-YEAR-OLD SON DEMANDED WE RETURN THE 2-YEAR-OLD GIRL WE ADOPTED — ONE MORNING, I WOKE UP AND HER CRIB WAS EMPTY
The morning sun streamed through the window, casting long, dancing shadows across the floor. I stretched, a contented sigh escaping my lips. Then, I froze.
Lily’s crib, nestled beside my bed, was empty.
Panic clawed at my throat. I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. “John!” I yelled, my voice hoarse.
John rushed into the room, his face pale. “What’s wrong? Where’s Lily?”
“She’s gone!” I cried, my voice cracking. “Her crib is empty!”
John’s eyes widened. “Oh God, you don’t think…”
The thought that had been lurking in the shadows of my mind, a fear I had desperately tried to ignore, now solidified into a chilling reality. My son, driven by anger and resentment, had taken Lily.
The ensuing hours were a blur of frantic phone calls to the police, frantic searches of the house, and a growing sense of dread. Every ticking second felt like an eternity. John, his face etched with guilt and fear, was inconsolable.
“I should have been firmer with him,” he kept repeating, “I should have never let him stay home alone.”
But I knew it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I had allowed my son’s anger to fester, I had underestimated the depth of his resentment. Now, I was paying the price.
The police arrived, their faces grim as they surveyed the scene. They questioned us, searched the house, and offered little comfort. “We’ll find her,” the lead detective assured us, his voice firm, but his eyes held a grim uncertainty.
As the hours turned into days, the initial wave of panic gave way to a chilling despair. I imagined Lily, frightened and alone, wandering the streets, lost and vulnerable. I pictured her small face, her big brown eyes filled with tears, her tiny hand reaching out for comfort that no one could offer.
The search continued, but hope dwindled with each passing day. Volunteers scoured the neighborhood, posters with Lily’s picture plastered on every lamppost. The news channels picked up the story, her face plastered across television screens, a plea for information.
But there was no trace of her.
The guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. I replayed every interaction with my son, every harsh word, every dismissive glance. I had focused on the joy of adopting Lily, on the love I felt for this small, vulnerable child. But I had neglected my son, his feelings, his needs. I had failed him, and now, because of my neglect, Lily was missing.
One evening, while sitting on the porch, staring at the fading light, I heard a faint sound. A soft whimper, barely audible above the rustling leaves. I followed the sound, my heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat.
Hidden behind a large oak tree, I found them. My son, huddled beneath a blanket, was holding Lily close, his face buried in her hair. Lily, her eyes wide with fear, was clinging to him, her small hand clutching his shirt.
Relief washed over me, so intense it almost brought me to my knees. I rushed towards them, tears streaming down my face. “Lily!” I cried, scooping her up into my arms.
My son, his face pale and drawn, looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and relief. “I… I couldn’t let her go,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “I know I was mean, but… but I love her too, Mom.”
As I held Lily close, her tiny body trembling against mine, I realized that the past few days had been a painful but ultimately necessary lesson. It had taught me the importance of communication, of empathy, of acknowledging the feelings of those I loved.
That night, as I rocked Lily to sleep, my son curled up beside me, his head resting on my shoulder. We had lost precious time, but we had also found something unexpected – a deeper, more profound connection. We had faced our fears, confronted our mistakes, and emerged stronger, more united than ever before.
The road to healing would be long, but we would face it together, as a family. And in the quiet moments, I would cherish the sound of Lily’s laughter, a sweet melody that filled our home with a joy I had almost lost forever.
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