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Los Angeles Times Valley Edition | Glendale News-Press | May 1
I burned books
BY PATRICK AZADIAN
As a child and a teenager, summers in Tehran were my favorite time of year. Everything during this season had a certain element of novelty attached to it. It was a season in sharp contrast to the rest of the year.
For beginners, there was no school. And no school meant sheer bliss, especially if one had successfully passed all the final exams during the regular school term. Unlike here, school was not particularly fun. Although I excelled in my studies, I can confidently say I despised school. Junior high exams were more stressful than the ones I later encountered at UCLA (and certainly USC).
Spring brought an end to the finals, and my unique ceremony of burning my books marked the beginning of my freedom. As a sign of respect to my grandfather's love for Armenian literature, as well as my primitive tribalism, I spared the Armenian books.
If that sounds extreme, let me try to explain our coursework so that one can appreciate my barbaric gesture.
At grade nine, the year we left for California, our academic program included each of the following classes: physics, chemistry, biology, Boolean algebra, algebra, Persian literature and grammar, Persian essay writing, Armenian history, Armenian literature and grammar, Arabic, English, social science, shop, art, physical education and political geography.
If one did not pass any of the finals for these classes, then they would have to spend the entire summer studying to retake the exams. A failing student would have the great pleasure of repeating the grade with younger kids -- a sure source of great embarrassment, ridicule, and depletion of self-esteem.
Although our teachers were extremely knowledgeable in the their area of expertise, their use of common sense was sometimes missing.
Let me start with physical education. Soccer, the most popular sport among boys, was not encouraged at our school, with the excuse that it hindered our studies. Not that we actually had a patch of grass to play on, but even the limited asphalt yard was not conducive for the game during common breaks, as students from first through 12th grades shared the facilities.
The only official period when the boys could actually get together and pump some natural adrenaline was during physical education. This class was 50 minutes in length each week, and for some reason, rain and clouds would hover over this period regularly. This was a perfect excuse for our P.E. teacher to cancel the class and ask us to study instead. Our pleading to reverse the draconian decision would continue throughout the entire 50 minutes.
If by some chance the teacher was in an altruistic mood, he would allow us to go to the yard, only to make us play dodge ball with the girls. During this time, the boys would beg for some soccer playing time, and girls would complain of exhaustion (Armenian girls were not as gym-friendly in those days).
So, if you see some grown Armenian men running around in Glendale parks on early Saturday mornings playing soccer and exchanging insults, you can now understand their source of frustration.
Common sense was sometimes a novelty in some of our other classes, as well. On one occasion, our political geography teacher was boasting about how our political system was modeled after the West (I think, if my memory serves me right, Belgium and France).
As she was describing the structures of European parliamentary governments and their respective democratic processes for changing governments, an obvious question came to my mind. I raised my hand, and when allowed to speak, I stood up and posed the question: What is the process of changing our government and our head of state?
She tilted her head and stared at me from the top of her thick glasses for a few seconds, and finally found the appropriate words to respond: "Khafeh sho, va besheen bacheh!" (in Persian, "Shut up and sit down, kid!") I felt like one of those unremorseful anti- government leftist conspirators who were paraded around on TV in mock trials before they were sent to their execution chambers.
Needless to say, I never learned the process from that particular teacher. But, a couple of years later, angry mobs found a way to change the government for a long time to come. I hope she was watching.
I have always wondered how I would I have turned out if I was born in the United States. What I know for sure is that without my particular "eastern" experience, I probably would not have appreciated all the basic opportunities and freedoms this land offers.
But I do have the feeling kids today miss out on many of the simple pleasures of life. I want to resist the temptation of sounding like some preaching elders, but everything seems to be handed to children and teenagers on a sliver platter these days (at least in my surroundings).
Still, I am not so sure if I would have wanted to be in their shoes. And fortunately, I don't have the choice.
Copyright 2004 Glendale News Press
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