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Glendale News Press
March 24 2007
FROM THE MARGINS:
Feeling included, sensing pride
By PATRICK AZADIAN
A friend of mine brought something to my attention last week. After I
told her yet another story about my father, she asked: "Have you
always missed him so much, or is this very recent?"
My father passed away in 2002.
I did not have an answer for her. She caught me off guard, and my
stories dried up for a couple of days. I briefly became
self-conscious about storytelling.
Who knew? Maybe this was a phase I was going through; something my
now-abandoned therapist would have had a label for. Perhaps I had a
condition. I wouldn't be surprised if "Late Post Loss Syndrome" was
listed somewhere in the encyclopedia of psychology.
My self-imposed ban on "dad stories" lasted a few days. Meanwhile,
even simple daily situations continued to remind me of my father,
Njdeh. But the much-talked-about Glendale multilingual ballot and
information pamphlet was the latest phenomena that brought him to
mind.
Here is why: After years of being physically separated from our
family due to political upheaval, he was finally able to join us for
a third and final time here in America. He was already in his
mid-60s.
Once we all had enough of the sentimentalities and our family unit
was back to a quasi-normal state, he had a few pieces of important
business he wanted to take care of.
First, as the rest of his family members were American citizens, he
put his citizenship documents into motion.
Simultaneously, he signed up for English as Second Language classes
at an adult education center. He took pride in going to class every
day and scoring perfectly in his exams. I have kept his exams.
In the process, sometimes he ran my patience thin by asking me
numerous detailed questions. Once he asked me the meaning of the word
"ambivalent." It was not always easy to give satisfactory answers to
his questions in Armenian. Often, certain words do not have a direct
equivalent in another language. But he was determined and my answers
often brought on new questions.
Njdeh wore out the English-to-Armenian, as well as the
English-to-Persian, dictionaries at our house. I have kept them, too.
He graduated from his courses with the unofficial titles of "best
student" and "teacher's pet." We were all proud.
Dad did not live long enough to take the oath of becoming an American
citizen. This had been one of his dreams since I was born. He always
reminded me that America was the best country in the world.
I did not shy away from telling him that being the best and being
perfect were two different things.
One of the topics that we disagreed on was how the past can influence
the future. I always emphasized that the injustices suffered in the
past by minority groups can hinder their progress today. To him that
was nonsense; his view always stressed taking responsibility for your
own actions. He was a product of real-life situations in the Old
World, I was a product of our public high school system and the UCLA
sociology department in the New World.
On one occasion he said: "Son, you don't know how it is to live in a
country where laws are subject to interpretation by corrupt
officials." He was referring to a political system he had left
behind, which had discrimination against religious minorities
legislated into law.
Glendale's multilingual ballot would have been another reason for him
to brag about America.
Njdeh would have secretly been happy with the multi-lingual ballots.
I say secretly, because even after successfully completing his ESL
classes, his English was not good enough to understand everything on
the sample ballot and voter information pamphlet. Yet he was too
proud to admit that he had not mastered the English language.
Frankly, at his age, I am not sure if he would have been able to be
fluent in English during his lifetime.
I can just see him coming out of the voting booth with the exuberance
reserved for teenagers. He would've said: "Kvearkam, byats hayeren
targmanootyoonuh bedk chooneyee." ("I voted, but I did not need the
Armenian translation!" in Armenian). He would have probably followed
up that statement with another one about the multilingual ballot:
"Did you see the ballot? This is what I am talking about. This is
what America is all about: tolerance and understanding."
In addition to his pride in his heritage, this would have been a
moment when he would have felt very American. He would have felt
included.
I wouldn't have argued with him on that day.
PATRICK AZADIAN works and lives in Glendale.
March 24 2007
FROM THE MARGINS:
Feeling included, sensing pride
By PATRICK AZADIAN
A friend of mine brought something to my attention last week. After I
told her yet another story about my father, she asked: "Have you
always missed him so much, or is this very recent?"
My father passed away in 2002.
I did not have an answer for her. She caught me off guard, and my
stories dried up for a couple of days. I briefly became
self-conscious about storytelling.
Who knew? Maybe this was a phase I was going through; something my
now-abandoned therapist would have had a label for. Perhaps I had a
condition. I wouldn't be surprised if "Late Post Loss Syndrome" was
listed somewhere in the encyclopedia of psychology.
My self-imposed ban on "dad stories" lasted a few days. Meanwhile,
even simple daily situations continued to remind me of my father,
Njdeh. But the much-talked-about Glendale multilingual ballot and
information pamphlet was the latest phenomena that brought him to
mind.
Here is why: After years of being physically separated from our
family due to political upheaval, he was finally able to join us for
a third and final time here in America. He was already in his
mid-60s.
Once we all had enough of the sentimentalities and our family unit
was back to a quasi-normal state, he had a few pieces of important
business he wanted to take care of.
First, as the rest of his family members were American citizens, he
put his citizenship documents into motion.
Simultaneously, he signed up for English as Second Language classes
at an adult education center. He took pride in going to class every
day and scoring perfectly in his exams. I have kept his exams.
In the process, sometimes he ran my patience thin by asking me
numerous detailed questions. Once he asked me the meaning of the word
"ambivalent." It was not always easy to give satisfactory answers to
his questions in Armenian. Often, certain words do not have a direct
equivalent in another language. But he was determined and my answers
often brought on new questions.
Njdeh wore out the English-to-Armenian, as well as the
English-to-Persian, dictionaries at our house. I have kept them, too.
He graduated from his courses with the unofficial titles of "best
student" and "teacher's pet." We were all proud.
Dad did not live long enough to take the oath of becoming an American
citizen. This had been one of his dreams since I was born. He always
reminded me that America was the best country in the world.
I did not shy away from telling him that being the best and being
perfect were two different things.
One of the topics that we disagreed on was how the past can influence
the future. I always emphasized that the injustices suffered in the
past by minority groups can hinder their progress today. To him that
was nonsense; his view always stressed taking responsibility for your
own actions. He was a product of real-life situations in the Old
World, I was a product of our public high school system and the UCLA
sociology department in the New World.
On one occasion he said: "Son, you don't know how it is to live in a
country where laws are subject to interpretation by corrupt
officials." He was referring to a political system he had left
behind, which had discrimination against religious minorities
legislated into law.
Glendale's multilingual ballot would have been another reason for him
to brag about America.
Njdeh would have secretly been happy with the multi-lingual ballots.
I say secretly, because even after successfully completing his ESL
classes, his English was not good enough to understand everything on
the sample ballot and voter information pamphlet. Yet he was too
proud to admit that he had not mastered the English language.
Frankly, at his age, I am not sure if he would have been able to be
fluent in English during his lifetime.
I can just see him coming out of the voting booth with the exuberance
reserved for teenagers. He would've said: "Kvearkam, byats hayeren
targmanootyoonuh bedk chooneyee." ("I voted, but I did not need the
Armenian translation!" in Armenian). He would have probably followed
up that statement with another one about the multilingual ballot:
"Did you see the ballot? This is what I am talking about. This is
what America is all about: tolerance and understanding."
In addition to his pride in his heritage, this would have been a
moment when he would have felt very American. He would have felt
included.
I wouldn't have argued with him on that day.
PATRICK AZADIAN works and lives in Glendale.