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Los Angeles Times Valley Edition | Glendale News-Press | May 15
JFK, Dr. Kempton and Patris
BY PATRICK AZADIAN
Lost in Space
I arrived in New York City's JFK Airport with my mother and sister on Aug. 7, 1977. The plan was for my father to join us within a year. At the time, JFK Airport seemed colossal, and finding the terminal for our connecting flight was a fantasy. In contrast, my 7-year-old sister, Lilit, was so tiny that she used one of our travel handbags as a bed for her naps while we tried to make sense of our itinerary.
After missing our connecting flight and being extremely embarrassed about my mom's rendering of the English language, we arrived in Sacramento International Airport via San Francisco.
My nine years of English classes had been futile; my cowardice stopped me from utilizing what I knew to help my mom. Not surprising, considering our school's English program was limited to grammar and copying verbs as homework. English conversation was absent from our language program, but I knew enough to recognize my mom was mutilating the Anglo tongue. Yet nothing could stand in her way of getting us to our destination safe and sound, not even a lifetime subscription to mischievous taunts by her own children.
My dear aunt, Hermine, and her beautiful blue-eyed daughter, Alenoush, greeted us at the airport. My cousin and my sister had been best friends until a few years earlier, when my aunt's family moved to the United States. A surprise was awaiting us: My 7-year-old cousin no longer spoke Armenian. This was a shock, but she relearned her mother tongue from my sister, and in return, my sister mastered conversational English through her old pal. It was a purposeful exchange.
Visit to the Pediatrician
A few days after our arrival, my sister and I developed unsightly rashes around our mouths. As newly arrived immigrants, we had to trust my aunt's choice of a physician. And since she had two children, we were referred to their pediatrician, Dr. Kempton, for a diagnosis on our condition.
On that particular day, and as a snooty teenager, I experienced new heights of being embarrassed. As I was sitting in the colorful waiting room with painted pictures of bugs and flowers on the walls, the possibility of having to undress and be weighed on the pediatric scale frightened me beyond imagination. Compared to having to place my bare behind on the cold metal weighing machine, the humiliation of being seated in the tiny yellow hand-painted child chair seemed insignificant. Fortunately, I did not have to go through that grand degradation, as the scale had a maximum limit of 44 pounds.
Finally, the doctor called me in with my mom, and asked some questions in order to identify the source of the rash. My mom made a habit of diagnosing us, often correctly, even before we arrived at the doctor's office. As our previous physician, Dr. Nahavandi, used to jokingly say: "Khanoom shoma aslan lazem nadareen bachehatoonno peesheh man byareen." (In Persian, "Lady, you don't even need to bring your children to me.")
My mom had another habit. If she did not know a word in English, she was not afraid of substituting it with something that sounded Western. In response to our new doctor's inquiries about the rash, she already had a diagnosis:
"Doctor, yesterday they ate much ananas (pineapple, in French) . . . "
"Excuse me?"
"Ananas, ananas . . . "
I placed my hands over my teenage ears, tilted my head down, and began a long staring session with the bright red linoleum floor, which now matched my youthful face. The good news was that Dr. Kempton and my mom somehow found a way to communicate; my mom's diagnosis had been correct.
I recently joked with my mother about the embarrassment of being taken to the pediatrician until I graduated from high school. Her response was unrepentant:
"Dr. Kempton? He was best doctor."
"Yes, I know. We ate ananas."
Letter to Patris
In one of my first letters to my old friend and soccer buddy, I wrote: "Dear Patris: America is great. I have never seen anything like this before. Strangers greet you on the street, and it is not unusual that a 'hello' is accompanied with a smile. Everyone who hears about my birthplace assumes that my father owns an oil refinery, we are filthy rich, and that we were frequent visitors to the royal palace in Tehran. They love us here."
If that was not enough to impress my friend, I was sure this bit of harmless information would: "Young girls with straight blond hair often visit the supermarket in bathing suit tops, flip flops, and shorts."
The trip to the Lucky supermarket (pronounced "loose-key" by my grandmother) was an adventure. Of course, I had to boast some more: "I am planning to join the varsity soccer team during the spring semester, where we actually get a soccer uniform, and play on actual grass. During the winter I will be joining the swim team . . . and yes, there is a heated pool."
I am sure my dear friend Patris was heartbroken and envious. It was a great feeling.
Copyright 2004 Glendale News Press
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