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2005 March 26
Cutlets, candidates, and 'the good old days'
BY PATRICK AZADIAN
Lara arrived early to register the Markarians for the Glendale elections. She walked into the open hallway of the south Glendale apartment complex, looked around and spotted the stairway leading up to the second floor. She walked up the stairs to apartment 202, where the smell of cutlets was dominating the air. As she pressed on the doorbell, the door opened instantly. Armenag and Hasmig were awaiting her.
Hasmig welcomed the young volunteer with a smile: "Baree es yekel aghcheegus (welcome my child, in Armenian)." Armenag followed: "Please, come in."
"Hello," was Lara's response. She walked into the tidy one bedroom apartment and placed her belongings on the wooden table. By now, the smell of fried cutlets had infiltrated her every pore.
"May I sit?' Lara asked.
"Please," the answer was unanimous.
Lara had already sensed a contrast of moods in-between husband and wife. Armenag looked apprehensive. Hasmig, on the other hand, was excited. This was their first opportunity to vote after becoming American citizens.
While the girls sat down to review the registration forms, Armenag wasted no time in making his opinion known: "Hasmig, I don't understand why you have to vote. All politicians are liars and thieves. When we refer to someone as 'po-lee-tee-shen,' it is not a compliment, it's an insult."
Hasmig made an attempt to control her husband: "Armenag, do not start!"
But Armenag continued: "Around here, rich get richer, and people like us only get poorer. I've been following the candidates on television. They have nothing to say about our lives. All they want to do is get chummy with people up on the hills."
Hasmig pleaded: "Armenag, please, not now."
Armenag had found an audience in Lara and he was not about to pass her up: "I don't believe we can make a difference. I miss the good old days in Armenia, before everything came crashing down."
Hasmig had tolerated her husband until now, but his last comment made her stand up and employ an aggressive tone: "Which 'good old days' are you exactly referring to!? The ones when you were passed up for a promotion just because you refused to join the Party? Or when your own friends labeled you 'a nationalist' since you were against Russian schools becoming more prestigious in Armenia than their Armenian counterparts. Is this 'the good old days' you are talking about? Or, are you talking about the days when your own childhood friends gawked at you whenever you attended church, and called you all sort of names from 'reactionary' to 'hetamnats' (backward, retarded)?"
"No Hasmig, the 'good old days' I am talking about are the ones when our schools produced artists, musicians and engineers. When our youngsters spent their time playing chess and going to the opera. The days when our society produced Olympic gold medalists and chess masters. These are 'the good old days' I am talking about. What are these politicians going to do to improve our public schools?"
Lara was taking mental notes, as Armenag continued: " 'The good old days' were the ones when young boys did not have to look like thugs to look cool, and pretty girls did not have to look like... 'You know what' to be popular. Those are 'the good old days' I am talking about. Not like here, where unless a teenager drives a brand new BMW, he grows up with a severe case of inferiority complex."
Lara decided it was her turn: "Actually sir, I still drive a mustard Honda Civic, worthy of the neighborhood junkyard. I just graduated from UCLA and my self-confidence is not bad. Moreover, many of the candidates send their kids to public schools; I don't see why they shouldn't care about our schools?"
For an instance, Armenag took a conciliatory tone: "Do you really think we can make a difference by voting?"
"Yes, I do," was Lara's response. "Why do you think candidates want to befriend the rich? Well, because they want to finance their campaigns and reach voters like you. They want your vote. When people like you don't vote, then candidates decide your concerns are not worth addressing. With all due respect sir, if you don't want candidates to take your concerns into account, then don't vote. You are making it easy for them to ignore you."
Armenag was adamant in his stance: "Tell the politicians, Armenag is staying home election day."
Hasmig turned to Lara and whispered: "Es esheets tsadz chee galoo." ('He won't get off his donkey.') Then, she turned to her husband: "You know what Armenag, not only I am voting, but I am going to volunteer my time for phone banking . . . But before that, Lara needs to taste my cutlets."
"No, I really have to go." Lara resisted.
Armenag showed a rare show of solidarity with his wife: "Not before you have the cutlets Hasmig made just for you. I got some lavash (bread) and tasty tomatoes from the market for you as well."
Lara could not resist the combination of imposed guilt and her love for cutlets.
Copyright 2005 From the Margins
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