March 20, 1971
Tadjrish, Iran
My Uncle Sia and Aunty Manijeh arrived at the courtyard door with gifts under their arms. They planted kisses on both cheeks of each person in our household. I felt the cold air on my bare legs and stayed long enough for my curiosity to run out and until the soreness of my pinched cheeks drove me away.
“Farhad, Mehry! I’ll take the baby. My, she is growing so big!”
“Mama, Baba, Happy New Year! I can smell your cooking from here! Is that Ghorme Sabzi? Eh baba! Is it time to eat yet?”
“Firooz, what a handsome suit! Let me get a look at you!”
My father snapped picture after picture. He didn’t have half the Farsi I did by this time, so he followed my mother around as she translated for him, with a smile so wide on his face he seemed to almost burst with pride.
My cousin, Sohail, strolled in the courtyard gate after his father, dashing in a navy blue blazer with a bright red carnation in the breast pocket. His little sister Sepideh appeared behind him, her round face framed by the bright red collar of her dress. She clutched at the plastic baby doll that she had gotten from my parents for Christmas.
Lygeia led the gaggle of children to our table display in the dining room and together we watched the colorful goldfish swim in circles in the bowl. Sohail was just tall enough to reach his fingers into the water which only made the fish swim faster in excited circles. In twos and threes, the adults joined us, until the dining room could hardly hold all of us around the table. Voices echoed off the walls, everyone talking loudly, excitedly, until, in a crescendo, all faces turned to my father who held above his head a wrapped gift as big as a toaster.
“For you, Baba,” he said, and he placed the package in my grandfather’s hands. My grandfather sat at the head of the table, with Grandmama at his side, and carefully unwrapped the gift. What seemed to me to be a toy, revealed itself to be a shot-glass caddy disguised as a model car, with a fat bottle of whisky in its belly. He busied himself with studying how each glass fit in the car’s cab. With a nudge from my father the whiskey was opened and the glasses were filled.
Next, my sister was given a colorful necklace and matching earrings and she proudly wore them both. I was taken with this display of gift-giving without the mysterious delivery by invisible reindeer. The scene was so distant from my expectations, that when my gift was presented to me I was taken by surprise.
“Your uncle has something to give you too,” my mother said from behind me and all eyes were on me as I turned and extended my chubby arm to have a tiny gold bracelet fastened around my wrist by my Uncle Farhad.
“Do you see the engraving? That says ‘Roia’,” my uncle pointed out dragging his finger along the curvy lines and dots on the bracelet’s flat face.
“It’s your name in Farsi, see? Re, vov, yeh alef, R-o-i-a, Roia,” my mother repeated. All at once I understood: my name, a Persian name, was revealed to me in the language it was intended for.
I knew this gift was important and that no one else received one like it. I placed a single kiss on each of my uncle’s cheeks, and turned to show my sister this treasure that was only mine to keep. That tiny strand of gold on my wrist named me in this now familiar place, this new home. The day stretched out before me full of food and music and loud relatives and I surveyed the scene with a new perspective on it all. I finally felt I belonged.
“Farhad, Mehry! I’ll take the baby. My, she is growing so big!”
“Mama, Baba, Happy New Year! I can smell your cooking from here! Is that Ghorme Sabzi? Eh baba! Is it time to eat yet?”
“Firooz, what a handsome suit! Let me get a look at you!”
My father snapped picture after picture. He didn’t have half the Farsi I did by this time, so he followed my mother around as she translated for him, with a smile so wide on his face he seemed to almost burst with pride.
My cousin, Sohail, strolled in the courtyard gate after his father, dashing in a navy blue blazer with a bright red carnation in the breast pocket. His little sister Sepideh appeared behind him, her round face framed by the bright red collar of her dress. She clutched at the plastic baby doll that she had gotten from my parents for Christmas.Lygeia led the gaggle of children to our table display in the dining room and together we watched the colorful goldfish swim in circles in the bowl. Sohail was just tall enough to reach his fingers into the water which only made the fish swim faster in excited circles. In twos and threes, the adults joined us, until the dining room could hardly hold all of us around the table. Voices echoed off the walls, everyone talking loudly, excitedly, until, in a crescendo, all faces turned to my father who held above his head a wrapped gift as big as a toaster.
“For you, Baba,” he said, and he placed the package in my grandfather’s hands. My grandfather sat at the head of the table, with Grandmama at his side, and carefully unwrapped the gift. What seemed to me to be a toy, revealed itself to be a shot-glass caddy disguised as a model car, with a fat bottle of whisky in its belly. He busied himself with studying how each glass fit in the car’s cab. With a nudge from my father the whiskey was opened and the glasses were filled.Next, my sister was given a colorful necklace and matching earrings and she proudly wore them both. I was taken with this display of gift-giving without the mysterious delivery by invisible reindeer. The scene was so distant from my expectations, that when my gift was presented to me I was taken by surprise.
“Your uncle has something to give you too,” my mother said from behind me and all eyes were on me as I turned and extended my chubby arm to have a tiny gold bracelet fastened around my wrist by my Uncle Farhad.
“Do you see the engraving? That says ‘Roia’,” my uncle pointed out dragging his finger along the curvy lines and dots on the bracelet’s flat face.
“It’s your name in Farsi, see? Re, vov, yeh alef, R-o-i-a, Roia,” my mother repeated. All at once I understood: my name, a Persian name, was revealed to me in the language it was intended for.
I knew this gift was important and that no one else received one like it. I placed a single kiss on each of my uncle’s cheeks, and turned to show my sister this treasure that was only mine to keep. That tiny strand of gold on my wrist named me in this now familiar place, this new home. The day stretched out before me full of food and music and loud relatives and I surveyed the scene with a new perspective on it all. I finally felt I belonged.
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