Perhaps childhood friendships are the purest of all. As we age, our expectations from life become tinted by our desires, which are no longer as simple as a childhood laugh or the joy of jumping in a puddle.
As we progress through school, we encounter competition. My parents often compared me to others, highlighting their perceived positive qualities, such as good behavior or intelligence. Perhaps they never witness these individuals in less-than-ideal moments. One comparison that particularly bothered me was when my parents would say, "Look at him, how smart he is, try to learn something from him." I felt dumb, and they didn't hesitate to remind me whenever they could. I couldn't change my innate abilities.
Compared to me, most kids around me seemed spoiled. Even my own siblings seemed to receive more indulgent treatment. Yet, there was a harsh reality underlying this perception.
My father had a difficult upbringing. Due to life's circumstances, he had very little until he graduated from college. Even then, the high cost of living presented challenges for someone who was relatively unknown. He worked independently for a while in Tehran before moving to Tabriz to work for the Department of Health. He also had his own practice, but clients were few and far between. I was born three and a half years after he graduated, when my mother was still in college. There was a societal expectation for newlyweds to have children, and those who didn't often faced stigma.
I'm sure he was barely making ends meet, if not in debt. They must have struggled to keep track of their expenses. In contrast, when my sister was born, my father was quite well-known on his private practice, as well as working at both a hospital and a college. He had even managed to purchase a land in the city center and built a house.
I'm sure even then, my mom had saved some of my old things for my sister, but perhaps buying new items wasn't as difficult as it once was.
While everything seemed to be progressing positively and life was becoming more manageable, the revolution occurred. The stated goal was to uplift the poor and alleviate poverty, but fascism has historically failed to improve anyone's life. Not only were the poor unable to afford basic necessities, but many members of the educated middle class also fell into poverty.
Some people took matters into their own hands. They started helping others by forgoing payments they owed. At one point, over half of the people who visited my father did so without paying. These debts were all forgiven. As a young child or teenager, I couldn't understand this generosity.
Persians have a proverb for every situation, which they often use to justify their arguments. This practice has historical roots, stemming from the way poets and writers earned their living. They often wrote in favor of kings or local leaders, unable to openly criticize their actions. Some even go further and exaggerate excessively to gain preferential status and repeat business.
If they want to express the idea that a good person will care for others before their own family, they might say, "A candle cannot light its holder."( فارسی : شمع شمعدان را روشن نمی کنه) (ترکی: چراغ اوز دیبینه ایشیخ ورمز ) In this analogy, the candle represents the father, and the holder symbolizes the family. Conversely, if they wanted to convey the importance of prioritizing one's family, they might say, "If you need light for your home, you should not donate it to the mosque ( فارسی : چراغی که به خانه رواست به مسجد چرا؟)."
Developed countries have systems in place, often government-funded, to assist those in need. However, in countries like the US and Iran, people frequently complain about poverty and often want those struggling to live elsewhere. This "out of sight, out of mind" mentality is prevalent. Additionally, when poor people face personal hardships, and steal a loaf of bread, they expect them to face legal consequences. This self-centeredness contributes significantly to societal problems. Apparently it is much better to pay the police, than stablish kitchens for poor.
While social services will not eliminate theft or other societal issues, they can provide a safety net for those in need without encouraging lawlessness.
Both the US and Iran rely heavily on religious organizations to aid the poor. However, many religions prioritize wealth accumulation for the clergy over the well-being of the congregation. The common adage, "Help the church so God will help you," suggests a transactional relationship with the divine. This raises questions about the true purpose of religious institutions and their role in addressing societal issues.
In any case, my father's life philosophy led to unnecessary hardships for himself and our family. We lived a modest life, far below the standards of our friends. Almost all of them had more luxurious and larger houses, fancier furniture, Lovely kitchens, nicer cars, and could afford many things that were beyond our reach.
One of our close friends used to live just three houses down our dead-end alley. During and for some time after the revolution, there was a curfew every night. Everyone had to be indoors by 8 PM. Either at night or when revolutionaries or counter-revolutionaries were fleeing from each other, they would sometimes end up in our dead-end alley and beg to be let into houses. To address this issue, the neighborhood decided to install a gate at the entrance to prevent people from entering the alley.
Schools were closed for months, travel was banned, and almost all unnecessary shopping and visits were halted. People were only meeting for funerals. It was a profoundly depressing time. To make matters worse, there was no internet, TV programming was limited to a few hours of bad news, and music was forbidden. Even those who experienced COVID lockdowns cannot fully comprehend the severity of the situation.
Utilities were unpredictable, and often the streetlights were off. This allowed the neighborhood to bypass the curfew and gather together at night, without being seen. So we used to meet our friends almost daily. And here was the problem: Vahid.
Vahid was a few years younger than me, round, almost always cheerful, intelligent, and somewhat spoiled by my standards. If I wanted something, I could only ask once. Either I would get it or not. A second request would have had negative consequences. Vahid, on the other hand, could ask for something multiple times, and his mother would mostly accept, and rarely gently refuse.
I didn't have many board games, so we had to play with what I had, including chess. I hated chess. Vahid would always win instantly. I never won a single game. This was salt on the wound. Not only was he intelligent, but he also spoke softly, politely asked for things (knowing he'd likely get them), and always won at chess.
This story needs another layer of complexity. Before the revolution, to encourage people to participate in sports, there were sporting clubs/federations in each city. The head of these organizations was often a college professor or a physician. Guess who was the head of Tabriz's chess federation? My dad.
I hated chess (I still hate anything I lose at), Vahid loved chess and was very good at it, and my dad really liked him. The end.
On top of that, he was a really good student, while I struggled academically. My dad appreciated this as well.
Going to their house was a stark contrast to my own home. They had a large room with a color TV, while ours was black and white. His bedroom was larger than our entire living and dining room combined, with a massive walk-in closet full of toys. But that wasn't all. In the basement of their newly built house, they had a dedicated ping pong room. So, instead of playing chess, we had plenty of other activities to enjoy.
I enjoyed playing ping pong. I loved jumping around and making noise. I learned to play at Vahid's house. Later in high school, I became quite good at it and it was one of the two sports I played.
Every other weekend, four or five families would gather. Vahid was the least of my worries at these parties. Keyvan was the real problem. Keyvan was equally, if not more, intelligent and passionate about learning. Unlike me, Vahid wanted to go to school and learn, but Keyvan was dedicated to studying. To make matters worse, Keyvan's father was my father's closest friend at the children's hospital.
Keyvan and I were born a month apart, so we were in the same grade. I was constantly compared to Keyvan and reminded of my perceived inadequacies.
One of the main activities when we were all at Vahid's house was ping pong tournaments. The loser would be replaced by someone else. Keyvan was equally good at ping pong. He and I were playing the final set, and the rule was that if we reached 20, we would go back to 19. He was at 20, and I was at 19. I won the point, bringing the score to 20-20. We were reset to 19-19, and I won again, making the score 19-20. In the next set, we were once again tied at 20-20. Vahid, distracted and thinking Keyvan had won the set, jumped up to grab the paddle from me. Meanwhile, Keyvan had already served, and my focus was on returning the ball. The ball and Vahid's face were both in my line of sight, and I hit Vahid's face so hard that it split the paddle in two, leaving the handle in my hand. Vahid's entire face turned a deep shade of red. A pin could have dropped and been heard.
I was terrified. His injury wasn't my concern. My parents would have made my life miserable for quite some time. We slowly and quietly went upstairs and sat with the adults. No one said anything. Vahid didn't complain, and no one else felt the need to rat me out.
The next time we met, he warned me that he had to tell his mom. However, they were kind to me and didn't bring up the incident. We remained friends for years until he moved to Tehran.
A few years after I moved to Tehran, my mom was in town, and I had a terrible flu. My mom suggested we visit Vahid's dad. While checking my throat, he advised me to visit Vahid. This led to us reconnecting. He was attending medical school and had a promising future as a doctor.
He was totally different—funny, outgoing, independent, and still incredibly intelligent. Today, he is an extremely successful surgeon, something he truly deserves.
I last saw him in Ohio when he was learning new techniques, but I lost contact after he returned to Iran.
About a year ago, a friend sent me a bunch of pictures of an old house in our neighborhood. I recognized the house immediately; it was Vahid's grandfather's home. They had lived there while their new house was being built. My friend helped me find him.
I often wish I hadn't been so jealous as a kid, but I blame my parents for using that as a motivator. Perhaps if I hadn't been jealous, I would have learned a few things from him. At least chess.
(c) I own the rights to the pictures. Please feel free to use them as you wish.
(c) The old house pictures are taken by my freind, Rasoul Khoshravan Azar, Please feel free to use them as you wish.
Comments
Post a Comment