It is said that to be an Armenian is to bear a great burden of sadness within. If you are an Armenian in part or whole, you came to be in this country from a generation who fled from their homeland. They fled from torture, rape, murder and dehumanization that is beyond comprehension. Many, as you will learn if you care to read on, did not make it.
With the exception of the first generation, I know some who read this have not heard this gruesome history of the Armenian people. My family and many other Armenians never spoke of it. They chose to forget and live on. The pursuit of happiness.
I guess I had never thought about my roots . Never save a brief mention in a fleeeting moment of time did I ever think anything of the Armenian Genocide. .........................I was visiting with my Uncle Sam (Sahag-his Armenian Name), my father's brother . We were having dinner, I was at that time in my early thirties, just married. We were talking, laughing, eating and drinking. Ater dinner we were mellowed from the good food, company and drink. Sam looked at me soberly and told me he would like to discuss our ethnic past. My father objected to Sam's sudden sober attitude and like siblings who have a closeness, knew his intent. Sam was a mild mannered man when out of character, to my surprise, he raised his voice in response and said, "Paul you never tell your son anything, I am going to talk to him".
As you might guess I was all ears by now, he had my attention. Sam began tell me unspeakable horrors inflicted on the Armenian people by the Turks in 1915. This mild mannered man had all of a sudden, before my eyes ,transformed to a man who displayed intense hatred and vengence towards these "horrid Turkish animals" who had murdered one and-half million Armenians including some of our family. I must never forget, I must hate the Turkish people with my all. " Never forget", he repeated. His face was sober and tense, relentlessly driving his point with all emotion. He said I must read a book entitled "40 Days at Musa Dagh".
At this point Sam's face relaxed, then he directed his attention to the other relatives in the room who had during the whole time of this conversation been preoccupied with gossip, current events and whatever they talk about at such gatherings.
This coversation rang in my head quite a time thereafter. I thought for a time that I had all of my life avoided racial predjudices and this man whom I respect says I must hate Turks. I am from a new generation, the world is a better place without prejudice. My small contribution is that I will not hate simply because of race.
While working in Boston one day many years later, I happened upon a Mideastern deli style quick- food shop on Broad Street. It smelled like nostalgia. I walked in to see mostly familiar dishes from my ethnic past.. The proprietor who most obviously was as ethnic as the food he offered asked if he could help me. I asked , "of what origin are you?" He replied proudly, " I am Turkish."
For a moment I could hear Uncle Sam's voice in my mind. I could hear his words so loudly in my mind that I swear that the Turk could hear them also. His accomodating business demeanor waned after I stood there speechless for a moment. He then asked, "what origin are you?" I did not answer right away, I studied the Turk for a moment, our eyes locked speechless and I replied, "I am an Armenian" . I watched his face and stood motionless not releasing my gaze, he twitched nerviously...................