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Glendale News Press
March 10 2006
X-Sender: Asbed Bedrossian <[email protected]>
X-Listprocessor-Version: 8.1 -- ListProcessor(tm) by CREN
It's all my parents' fault
PATRICK AZADIAN
I had a discussion recently with an Armenian friend on the topic of
why Armenians in Glendale are getting a not-so-good reputation.
My friend left me with a thought: "Well, if the shoe fits, wear it."
The remark was as much directed to me, as it was to herself.
The irony is, neither of us contributes to the making of this
infamous shoe.
What's tainting the reputation of this community (food for future
columns), goes against all the values my parents have tried to
instill in me. And, I can't say this quickly enough, my family is not
so unique.
Most of my friends and extended family members subscribe to these
values.
The general theme of my family's value system has always revolved
around honest work, importance of family, education and respect for
others. There is also a strong sentiment against gaudiness,
materialism and superficiality.
I know I sound like a Republican presidential candidate, but I am not
willing to wear a shoe that does not fit.
The well-intentioned, and sometimes naïve, teachings of my parents
and grandparents began at young age.
I was probably only 6 when I was gifted a small white convertible toy
Ford Thunderbird. My maternal grandfather walked in from work and saw
me making imaginary noises while I pushed the American classic on the
crimson-colored Persian carpet: "Vroom, Vroom," I said. He looked at
the model car and responded: "What, a toy! Let's get you a book to
read!"
The man tried, and I resisted. It was not until I was 9 when I got a
taste of reading. Harsh rural circumstances forced me into it.
My family had temporarily relocated to a remote town for business
opportunities; television sets were scarce. Children's magazines
became my saviors from boredom.
By the time the exile was over, I had enough interest in reading to
hijack my aunts' glossy women's magazines. They paved the way to
Albert Camus.
Books: Good. Flashy cars: Not so important.
My grandfather had planted the seed.
Like many teenagers across America, I had a valid driver's license by
age 17. I also harbored the illusion that I had some rights to our
family's brand new Chevy Malibu (at the time it was a cool car if you
lived in Sacramento) on the rare occasion I went out on a date.
I made the mistake of asking a classmate out to the movies, assuming
the metallic blue monster would be available to impress. My mom had
other ideas. "If she really likes you, she will go to the movies with
you on a bus." she said.
I opted out of the date. I had enough wisdom to recognize that the
visual picture of my date and I hanging from the metal railings in
the bus, occasionally swaying back and forth at every stop was way
un-cool.
The message here was noble: People should like you for what you are,
not for what you have.
Another lesson was: As long as you get an education, you can study
whatever you like. This policy and my indecisive character probably
contributed to my dabbling in all sorts of academic majors.
Education: Good. Parents should only guide their children in life,
and not force their own dreams on their offspring.
My mom still works. And for the majority of his life, my father
started his workdays at 5 a.m. and returned home in the evening. His
workweeks were often six or sometimes seven days.
Honest work: Good.
On the rare occasions when my mom had a professional helping hand
around the house (some would call her a maid), she would insist the
lady from the less privileged part of town sit with us at the dining
table for lunch, an unorthodox concept even for today.
The message here was clear: Treat people with dignity and respect, no
matter where they are from or who they are.
I don't consider my family values as Armenian, just human. Maybe they
are too idealistic, and a bit naïve for the world we live in. They
may even be misguided at times. But these are the values of my family
and many of my friends.
And if there are those in our city who commit wrongs, and they have
lost their way by coming into wealth too suddenly, and if they want
to take a shortcut to the dream of owning three SUVs and a palace on
the hills, well, those are their values, not mine, and not my
friends'.
* PATRICK AZADIAN works and lives in Glendale. He may be reached at
[email protected]
March 10 2006
X-Sender: Asbed Bedrossian <[email protected]>
X-Listprocessor-Version: 8.1 -- ListProcessor(tm) by CREN
It's all my parents' fault
PATRICK AZADIAN
I had a discussion recently with an Armenian friend on the topic of
why Armenians in Glendale are getting a not-so-good reputation.
My friend left me with a thought: "Well, if the shoe fits, wear it."
The remark was as much directed to me, as it was to herself.
The irony is, neither of us contributes to the making of this
infamous shoe.
What's tainting the reputation of this community (food for future
columns), goes against all the values my parents have tried to
instill in me. And, I can't say this quickly enough, my family is not
so unique.
Most of my friends and extended family members subscribe to these
values.
The general theme of my family's value system has always revolved
around honest work, importance of family, education and respect for
others. There is also a strong sentiment against gaudiness,
materialism and superficiality.
I know I sound like a Republican presidential candidate, but I am not
willing to wear a shoe that does not fit.
The well-intentioned, and sometimes naïve, teachings of my parents
and grandparents began at young age.
I was probably only 6 when I was gifted a small white convertible toy
Ford Thunderbird. My maternal grandfather walked in from work and saw
me making imaginary noises while I pushed the American classic on the
crimson-colored Persian carpet: "Vroom, Vroom," I said. He looked at
the model car and responded: "What, a toy! Let's get you a book to
read!"
The man tried, and I resisted. It was not until I was 9 when I got a
taste of reading. Harsh rural circumstances forced me into it.
My family had temporarily relocated to a remote town for business
opportunities; television sets were scarce. Children's magazines
became my saviors from boredom.
By the time the exile was over, I had enough interest in reading to
hijack my aunts' glossy women's magazines. They paved the way to
Albert Camus.
Books: Good. Flashy cars: Not so important.
My grandfather had planted the seed.
Like many teenagers across America, I had a valid driver's license by
age 17. I also harbored the illusion that I had some rights to our
family's brand new Chevy Malibu (at the time it was a cool car if you
lived in Sacramento) on the rare occasion I went out on a date.
I made the mistake of asking a classmate out to the movies, assuming
the metallic blue monster would be available to impress. My mom had
other ideas. "If she really likes you, she will go to the movies with
you on a bus." she said.
I opted out of the date. I had enough wisdom to recognize that the
visual picture of my date and I hanging from the metal railings in
the bus, occasionally swaying back and forth at every stop was way
un-cool.
The message here was noble: People should like you for what you are,
not for what you have.
Another lesson was: As long as you get an education, you can study
whatever you like. This policy and my indecisive character probably
contributed to my dabbling in all sorts of academic majors.
Education: Good. Parents should only guide their children in life,
and not force their own dreams on their offspring.
My mom still works. And for the majority of his life, my father
started his workdays at 5 a.m. and returned home in the evening. His
workweeks were often six or sometimes seven days.
Honest work: Good.
On the rare occasions when my mom had a professional helping hand
around the house (some would call her a maid), she would insist the
lady from the less privileged part of town sit with us at the dining
table for lunch, an unorthodox concept even for today.
The message here was clear: Treat people with dignity and respect, no
matter where they are from or who they are.
I don't consider my family values as Armenian, just human. Maybe they
are too idealistic, and a bit naïve for the world we live in. They
may even be misguided at times. But these are the values of my family
and many of my friends.
And if there are those in our city who commit wrongs, and they have
lost their way by coming into wealth too suddenly, and if they want
to take a shortcut to the dream of owning three SUVs and a palace on
the hills, well, those are their values, not mine, and not my
friends'.
* PATRICK AZADIAN works and lives in Glendale. He may be reached at
[email protected]