Welcome to guest blogger Sam Paravonian.
I remember my mother as a pious, smart, nurturant, efficient and loving woman who came to the United States in 1926. She had become a widow (with a one-year old daughter) in 1915 when the Ottoman Turks killed her first husband during the Armenian genocide. As a refugee she then walked from central Turkey to Aleppo Syria, from there going to Beirut, Lebanon. As far as I know, my father, whose first family lived in a village in central Turkey, was conscripted by the Turks for their army before World War I, shortly thereafter went AWOL and fled through eastern Europe, finally ending up in the Waukegan, IL. He later learned that his home village including his family were “wiped out” during the genocide.
My mother got a job in Lebanon at a boy’s orphanage as a “mother” to 100 boys which included their laundry. She also joined a church with a strict code of rules and behavior. My father got a job as a wire drawer at the American Steel and Wire Mill. His brother, who worked at the orphanage with my mother, told her and my father to correspond with each other and see if they would agree to meet. Briefly, they did meet in Havana Cuba, married and became established in Waukegan. Often families would meet to socialize by going to others’ homes and relive their experiences in both the “old country” and their new country.; many of my playmates had very similar stories of their parents and relatives. Also because of persecution and local practices many of these immigrants had no or little formal education.
Soon neighbors met my mother, learned that she had gone to school -the equivalent to our high schools – many women would come to her for some kind of help. For example, some had received a letter and wanted her to read it to them, or to write a letter for them; some wanted to learn embroidery or crochet; some wanted to learn to read; others to write; others wanted to knit – especially mittens; others wanted help with interpersonal relationships; some asked about cooking or baking; and other reasons. Many just wanted to talk. Almost always before the guest left, my mother asked them to let her read a little Scripture, make a few comments, and to pray for them. Before leaving, the women always showed gratitude not only in words but often by a hug or a kiss.
My mother’s behavior helped me learn that piety is not only reading the Bible, praying, or preaching, but also to help people in their daily and/or ordinary needs.
Sam Paravonian
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