The Yin and Yang of Parenting

A few weeks ago, I kicked off this podcast with a special Father's Day reflection about my dad.  In so many ways, I think I'm like my father.  But this week, we celebrated my mother's 80th birthday.  I've been thinking a lot about the other half of the equation - of who I am and the influence of my mom in my life.  As much as I am my father's daughter; I am my mother's daughter as well.  As a young adult, I really noticed the difference between my mother and father.  I used to think  they were opposites.  They say "opposites attract", right?  Whereas my father was free-spirited and unconventional, my mom was the grounding force.  If dad said, "The sky's the limit," mom would say, "Yes, but within reason."  I have some reflections to share with you about the incredible woman that is my mom and how she has impacted my life.

In Chinese philosophy, the concept of yin and yang is used to describe how opposite or contrary forces are interconnected and interdependent in the natural world - like male/female, light and dark,  hot/cold, life and death.  So all this time I was thinking of yin and yang as opposities of each other, but it's not about opposites at all.  It's about complementing one another. Not opposing, but forces interacting to form a whole, greater than either separate parts - something more dynamic.  Thinking about it this way, made total sense.  My parents' lives were complementary of one another - each bringing their best to the table to create something greater than either separate part.

Growing up, I thought my mom was the prettiest mom around.  Back in those days, those Jackie O days, mom always had the coordinated outfits with the matching handbag, shoes and gloves.  At 80, she is still very much like that in a sense, matching her purse and jewelry to her outfit when she dresses up for church.  I still think she is beautiful.  Not only in her beautiful outward appearance, but more importantly, on the inside.  I remembered a funny story about when I was a teen.   When I was about 14,  I was in my mom's room watching her get ready to go out on a date with dad.   I asked her how old I had to be before I could go out on a date with a guy.  My mom said, "About 16."  "SIXTEEN!?"  I thought this was so unfair!  Sixteen!  Why that was like being an old maid.  I cried  (seriously! I totally remember having a major melt down right there and then plopped on my mom's bed)  and I tried to talk her down.  She started laughing.  "Look she said.  You're getting yourself all worked up.  Go wash your face and blow your nose.  Why don't we worry about this when someone has actually asked you out.  Then we can talk about it --  when you actually get asked out!"  ::sigh::: I resigned myself.  There was no reasoning with her.   And so when did that happen, you ask?  When I was sixteen, of course.  Mom knew.

Both sets of my grandparents were genocide survivors.  And while most of my parents' friends were trying to fit into American life, my parents clung to their Armenian heritage.  My mom loved all things Armenian: language, poetry, dance.  And my dad.  They met at a party and it was that Armenianness that first attracted them to one another.  Mom said it was fact that he spoke Armenian - AND he played violin.  We can't forget that.

They dated, they got married, and in L.A.'s Armenian scene, they were known at the time for their Armenian dancing.  When they'd show up at Armenian picnics or church bazaars, the band would play their song.  They would dance for the crowd.  They loved dancing and the crowd loved watching them.  Dad showing off his fancy footwork to mom's coy and demure graceful moves (her Naz Bar).  Even after we were born, mom and dad continued to dance in the Armenian Folkloric Dance Ensemble.  Our childhoods were spent going to dance rehearsals and performances, helping them and the other dancers with costumes backstage.  For my parents, dancing was an art form --  preservation of our culture. My mom taught my sister and I that Armenian dancing for women was not about swaying hips and shoulder shimmies.  It was not belly dancing.  It was about grace and modesty.  I remember how she would practice - because I would try alongside her.  She would glide smoothly taking tiny steps on her tip toes.  She was always so graceful.  She would tell me that when you were on stage and had your costume on, the audience shouldn't see your footsteps..you should appear to be gliding..."as if on rollers."  To this day, though her arthritis keeps her from dancing, whenever she hears Armenian music she still gets that beautiful nostalgic smile on her face and she moves her hands and arms to the music, still ever so graceful.

Mom was the one that would tuck us in at night.  She is and has always been a woman of faith.  Growing up, whenever I'd be devasted by some earth-shattering teenage drama, it was mom that would calm me down and tell me not to worry.  She'd tell me to pray and trust in God.  We would pray as a family when we sat down to eat at the table.  We prayed when we got in the car to set off for the day.  She always maintained a sanctity in our home and our family.  As children, when she'd tell us that God's angels were present at our kitchen table, I'd imagine little cherubs perched on the corners, and whenever milk would spill (which with four kids was pretty much a daily occurrence), I'd wipe it up quickly so was not to get their wings wet.  But as I got older and became a parent, and understood the importance of sitting down together as a family, I understood what she meant:  God had blessed our family, and this sacred time that we had together - to share a meal together and our day's events together - were holy and should be treated as such.  This is something that I held on to as a parent making sure that we would all have dinner together as a family.

She loves our Armenian church.  On Sunday's we'd pile in the little economy car - our '72 Dodge Colt -- that she had. Mom and dad in the front, me wedged between my two grandmothers in the back and my brothers in the way back. I don't even remember where my sister sat, but I'm guessing she was sitting in my mom's lap in the front seat!  This was before car seats and seat belt laws.   My parents sang in choir, my brother served on the altar, and later I'd join my parents in choir too.  If we had a visiting priest at church, you can bet that mom would invite them to our home for lunch. Years later, when my sister started kindergarten, mom accepted a position as executive secretary for the archbishop of our Armenian church diocese - a perfect fit for her.  She loved it there and spent 26 years at that job serving her church.

My father was a musician, yes, but  my mother is an artist.  She loved to draw and paint.  But with four children, she didn't have time. But she did some fantastic doodling when she was on the phone.  And I would love to watch her.  She'd be discussing the day's events with my aunt on the phone, and the whole time she'd be drawing.  Usually profiles of people, or eyes, or clusters and clusters of grapes with leaves and tendrils, each perfectly shaded and highlighted all done with a ball point pen!  One day, she decided the living room needed painting.  That's when she brought out her paints and started her masterpiece.  She painted a mural of Mount Ararat and Massis on the living room wall.  It was great!  You'd walk into the living room and there it was . The snow-capped peaks of the mountains, framed by the Armenian highlands was the showpiece of our living room.  So many years later, when I've run into friends I haven't seen in a long while, inevitably, the Mount Ararat mural always comes up in the conversation.  It was memorable.

And finally, whereas my father gave of his knowledge and music to others, my mother gave (and still gives) of herself.  She is a very caring person.  And though I tell her, "mom, don't worry about everyone else!"  She does.  She remembers birthdays and sends cards with beautiful handwritten sentiments.  She carries her camera in her purse and will take photos of others after church so that she can make prints and share them with them.  "It will make them happy," she says.   And when she makes her famous blue-ribbon winning choreg for Christmas and Easter, she must make huge batches to share with her family, friends and clergy. When friends and family have prayer needs, they call her and ask that she pray for them - Mom has the hotline to God.   Whenever you go to her home to visit, when it's time to leave, she has to walk you to the door and stand there as you pull away.  This is done so that she can pray for you as you're leaving.  She's really the best.  She is a giver and one that will make you feel good with her thoughtfulness.

Today, because of mom,.  I am a woman of faith, a proud Armenian American.  I too love to draw and paint (and I'm a CRAZY doodler when I'm on the phone!) Armenian dance for me is still all about grace and poise; and my prayer list is always growing with requests.   And whenever guests leave our home, just like mom, I stand at the door, wave, and say a little prayer after them.  There is so much that we learn from our parents - either in lessons that they've taught us, or just as a products of our environment.   It's funny how life comes full circle.  I am proud to say that I am my mother's daughter  Happy Birthday Mom!  I love you!

Lessons from the Garden (Audio)

ITP Episode #3: Welcome to Inside the Pomegranate where Anush Avejic uses applied Christianity to take a look at daily life through personal reflection.  Whether it’s reaching out to the homeless, gardening, parenting, surviving cancer, or wellness it’s all here - Inside the Pomegranate!
In episode 3, Anush discusses her wellness journey as well as the parallels between gardening and life. 
Produced by Suzie Shatarevyan for epostle.net
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Lessons from the Garden

A collage of photos from my garden

Last week I told you a little bit about my garden.  This week's pomegranate seed is going to be about some lessons that I've learned from gardening.

Since we moved to this home about 7 years ago, I have always had a vegetable garden.  The first year was good.  I had a lot of luck.  But in subsequent years, my yeild has just kind of dwindled.  We live in the foothills, and our soil is poor.  "Poor"  is kind of a generous word actually...basically, we grow rocks.  So I started thinking that in order to have a good garden, I'm going to need to replace the soil  And this led me to thinking about raised beds.   We had re-done our patio last year and had about 600 bricks that we couldn't seem to get rid of.  So one Saturday morning, I had the idea to just use some weed cloth, cover over the existing garden plot, and then create two raised beds by stacking the bricks we had.  It took my husband and I about 6 hours to get all the bricks moved and stacked, but it worked.  The weight of the bricks keeps them in place.  After creating two new beds, we bought organic soil and filled the beds.  It was such a cool thing to see the water drain into the soil rather than pooling at the surface.  My new beds look great, but would the garden be a success?

I planted 5 types of tomatoes, some Armenian cucumber, lemon cucumber, yellow squash, peppers, peas, beans and artichokes.  Now those of you who garden know that Gardening is all about FAITH, HOPE, LOVE, and BELIEVING.  Think about it.  We plant seeds with the hope that they will sprout and grow.  If we didn't believe in that process, what would be the point of planting a garden at all, right?  And then we have to nurture the garden, water it, weed it, help it along.  See if there are pests along the way and if there are, find ways to get it healthy again.

There are a lot of lessons here.  I can think of my soil delimma as life itself. Through the years, life can become less and less productive.  We can even grow rocks...or have hurdles that we face.  Sometimes, it just gets to the point where you want to start over.  Whether it's something as major as starting a new career or changing a lifestyle, we may or may not have that choice.  But one thing that is offered to us, simply, and profoundly, is the opportunity to receive Holy Communion.  Receiving the body and blood of Christ after self-preparation, is a chance to receive a fresh start.  It's a chance for us to stop and evaluate our past and what didn't work.  And then to start anew and try again.

The next lesson is about support, friends, and being anchored in your faith.  My peas sprouted and grew about 7 inches.  It was time to stake them up because their long stalks need support.  They have these curly little tendrils that reach out to grab on to whatever they can.  I put a  support system up and some of them grabbed right on.  Some of the plants weren't close enough to reach the support,  and so they grabbed on to other plants.  If the plants they grabbed on to where supported, they grew up okay.  If you had two unsupported plants holding on to one another, they toppled each bringing the other down with their weight.  The support is our faith.  If we have a firm foundation in our faith, when we grow weak, we can rely upon it to help keep us up.   Sometimes we can even carry our friends with us when we are firm in our beliefs.   If we follow the true principles of our faith, meaning love and compassion, of course we will be there to offer a hand up to our friends that may have lost their way.  But if we try to do it on our own, we may be okay for a while, but eventually the weight of life itself becomes too much and without support, we find ourselves falling.

Just because it looks healthy, doesn't mean it is.  I have some very pretty squash plants.  They look green and they are flowering, but the flowers die and fall off.  I have yet to get one squash.  And then again, I have the saddest looking lemon cucumber plant.  It's lost all it's leaves but one, yet it will flower and produce fruit....slowly, but it does it.  This lesson?  Don't judge.  Life is not always as it appears on the outside.  It's what's going on on the inside that counts.

I also planted some Bird Nest Gourds.  These are ornamental plants that you can hollow out to create bird houses.  I thought it might be fun, so when I was planting all the rest of the garden, I planted some of these seeds as well.  I watered.  Nothing.  My other plants sprouted and grew tall.  No gourd sprouts.  I lost faith in them.  I thought it must have been a bad batch of seeds or maybe the birds ate them.  And then about 6 weeks later, they sprouted!  Surprise! Another lesson.  Don't give up, don't lose faith.  (I need to call on this lesson for my weight loss plateau...I know).

The Armenian cucumbers....I was all excited when Home Depot had seeds for Armenian cucumbers.  I gave them the prime location in the garden.  Right in the center of the bed.  About 10 days after planting, they popped up.  And yes, they grew.  But they have not yet fully taken off.  it's been 4 months now...and they are still about 3 inches high.  Some of them flower, but no fruit.  I have no clue what's up with them.  But the lesson here:  We're all the same.  Doesn't matter if it's an Armenian cucumber, or my sad little lemon cucumber.  A cucumber is a cucumber and I love them both equally.  : )  Oh, and I haven't given up on them (and I won't!  I know someday soon they're going to thrive and grow and  surprise me!  Til then, I'm keeping the faith!)

Prune!  No not the fruit.  But the act itself.  When your leaves get shriveled, and non-productive, it's good to prune away the old to allow for new growth.  Don't worry about holding on to the old.  It's good to check and see what's working and what's not and take action.  I have a grape tomato plant that struggles sometimes...but it does much better when I've helped it along and trimmed the stems that are not producing.  In this way, the energy can go into what IS working rather than working to keep the unproductive part alive.

And finally, water and fertilize!!!  On a regular basis you have to fertilize to keep things growing.  Prayer is the the Miracle-Gro of life and water is worship.  Through regular prayer and worship, you acknowledge that you are not in total control...that God is greater.  And you allow yourself to be humbled to understand that try as you might, not all things will be as YOU want.  But will be as they are supposed to be.  But by watering and fertilizing, through prayer and worship,  we are able to enjoy the fruits of our lives and to give thanks for the amazing harvest of life that is beautiful, full and filled with love.

And I hope the next time you're out in your garden, you take a look around and see how you can find similarities between your garden and your life.  I would love to hear about your observations.  Til next week, this is Anush, wishing you a Pomegranate Day, filled with hope, and ripe with possibilities!

Getting Along with Ourselves (Audio)

ITP Episode #2: Welcome to Inside the Pomegranate where Anush Avejic uses applied Christianity to take a look at daily life through personal reflection.  Whether it’s reaching out to the homeless, gardening, parenting, surviving cancer, or wellness it’s all here - Inside the Pomegranate!
This is the audio version of Getting Along with Ourselves.
On this weeks episode:  Victims or successes?  Lets take a look at how these perceptions of ourselves effect the way we react toward one another.
Produced by Suzie Shatarevyan for epostle.net
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Getting Along with Ourselves

This week, our In His Shoes homeless outreach prepared our monthly dinner for the residents of Ascencia, Glendale's homeless shelter. We are in our 6th year serving the homeless on Skid Row and we recently partnered with Ascencia and will be providing a homecooked meal to the residents there on a monthly basis.  There are families that live there,including young children.  We operate solely on donations, and our crew gets to work in the kitchen and we just have a great time, cooking, visiting and feeding the people.  There's something so fulfilling about feeding people, isn't there?  Especially when those people are truly hungry.  It's a blessing for all of us  to be part of this ministry.  All those that live there are always  so grateful.  They are sweet to us.  And there are also people that are not residents who stop by for services as well.   This time around, one of those people was a young mother with 6 children who was talking to the director.   While she was talking to him,  her children were playing in the play area at the shelter, completely comfortable with their surroundings. You could tell they were familiar with the shelter.  I asked if they'd like to stay for dinner, to which the kids all nodded an excited YES!  But mom said they needed to go, but would take it with them if possible.  We packed up food for the family, poured juice for the kids and off they  went.  And this got me to thinking about this young family.  What was their homelife like?  Did they have a home? How will their childhood impact their lives?  Will they view people's kindness toward them in a positive way? or will they grow up with poverty in their being feeling like charity cases.   Lots of questions.  And so that's kind of what my pomegranate seed is about today:  Things that impact our lives,  Bullying.  Ethnic identity.  Entitlement.   Wow...how did I get here from there?  Well, here it is:

Children can be cruel, and so where does that come from?  I know we're not born with it.  And I'm not even sure that it comes from the home, because although that is a factor, there are also outside influences like friends (and their parents), TV, social media, etc.

We've heard a lot about bullying these past several years as YouTube videos have popped up telling the world the stories of  its victims.  Bullying isn't something new though.  It was around back when I was a kid too.  And I'm pretty sure it hurt just as much back then as it does today.  The difference is that we didn't think of doing anything about it, other than going to our parents who would calm us down with the "Don't pay attention to them.  They're just jealous," speech, right?  You know the one.  (Do you use that on your kids??  I know you do, right?)  : )

Kids are usually picked on for being different.  Fat, skinny, nerdy, gay, short, tall, smart, not so smart, it doesn't matter at all.  It's these little differences that make a HUGE difference not only in the child's day-to-day, but in their lives as well.   All the bully needs is a following - people who want to get in with them so they can avoid being the brunt of the bullying - and a subject.

My two nieces - proud hyes!

But how about when you're picked on for being the same?  Or at least trying to be the same?  not one ethnicity against the other, but against our own ethnic group - Armenians. Here's what I'm getting at:  I have a nine-year-old niece who wants more than anything to embrace her Armenian culture.  She is sensitive and sweet, cute, smart, funny, you get the idea. (Can you tell I love her to bits?)  Her problem?  She doesn't look Armenian, and she doesn't have an IAN on the end of her name. My brother-in-law is not Armenian.  Blonde hair, blue eyes and freckles, my niece is every bit as Armenian as her tormentors.  Despite the fact that she tells them she is Armenian, offers up proof by throwing out what Armenian words or facts she knows, this group of Armenian girls denies her her ethnicity.  They refuse to acknowledge her.  She has asked my sister to go to her school and tell the kids that she is Armenian!  And my sister has spoken to them all, yet just to be mean, they continue.  I've asked my niece, why not play with the other kids?  I'm sure there are others in your class who aren't Armenian?  Well, that's true, she could...but it's important to her to be a part of the Armenian group because this is what is identifies with.

My daughter had a similar experience when she was in high school.  She didn't have the requisite IAN or YAN attached to her name either.  Yet she too is proud of her Armenianness.  She actually knew more about our people than her bullies who were all immigrants to this country from the homeland.  She knew about our Orthodox Christian faith and our history, whereas her bullies were Armenian by name, clothing, cars and cologne only. They would tell her she wasn't Armenian because her father wasn't.  (Excuse me?  What about her mama!?)

And on a different level, I too have experience this as well.  I used to teach English at a private Armenian school.  I've taught kindergarteners up to 8th graders (and dealt with all their parents).  I speak Armenian and I DO have the requisite IAN.   On more than one occasion, I've been asked if I'm from Bierut because of my dialect.
"No," I say.  "I'm born here."
"Here is where?" they ask.
"Here.  America."
"Oh, well.  You're not really Armenian then, " they joke...but you can tell what's behind that little joke.  Seriously!  So hello?  If I were from Beirut, would THAT suddenly verify that I'm Armenian?  Wouldn't that make me Lebanese?  Get a clue people!  Armenianness is not in the name, it's in the heart and the soul.

So why are we like this?  And where did this all come from?  As an ethnic group, we are so small as it is, shouldn't we be embracing one another and holding on to what we have rather than excluding, bullying, and trying to categorize one another?  Does it matter if you're an America-hye, Barska-hye, Bolsa-hye, Iraqa-hye, Beirutahye?  Shouldn't a hye be a hye?
I know the deep-lying factor is the genocide, right?   But what makes us think that we are any better than anyone else? Or that rules apply to everyone else except us.  Is it the bully thing -  trying to pump oneself up by bringing someone else down?  I'm not so sure. And forgive me -- I happen to live in an area with an abundance of Armenians so understand where I'm coming from.  I'm not trying to generalize but making an observation of what's it's like in my area.    And i do love my people.  But why can't we see that we're all part of a bigger picture?  Well, it did happen, the other night, we had an opportunity to ALL be together. All kinds of hyes and odars together in one place just enjoying the evening and having a great time.  Believe it?.  The plot thickens!  Here's what happened;

Have you all heard of the movie, "Lost and Found in Armenia" directed by Gor Kirakosian?  We live not far from Glendale, and when this movie first came out, my husband and I went to see it at the theater.  Not a small theater, mind you.  The regular feature film theater.  It's a funny film starring Jamie Kennedy and a whole wonderful cast of characters.  A cute story and very funny.  And one of the best parts?  Watching the credits roll at the end of the movie, seeing all the Armenian names.  My husband and I play a game during the credits called Serbs vs. Armenians.  I look for the IAN/YAN endings, and he looks for the IC's.  We try to see which one of our peeps have the most representation in the film.  He didn't stand a chance on this film! (which I loved!) Well anyway... I liked the movie so much I thought it would be great to bring my mom to see it.  After two attempts of sold out tickets, we finally got seats.  With school out my sister and nieces came along too and we had a girls night out.  The lines to go into that movie were long!  Over 100 feet.  Even though it was a Monday night, the theater was packed.  I don't know what it was about that evening but it was great.  We were among other Armenians that we didn't know...and they weren't staring us down in that way that only they can do!  Everyone was so excited, and happy...We were all there to support this film. It didn't matter whether the director was from Armenia, Beirut or Iraq.  The film was by an Armenian and we were proud.  One non-Armenian woman came up to me while I was in line asking what the line up was for.  I told her about the movie, which is an independent film.  She asked, "And THIS line is for that movie???"  I told her we were proud, and most all of us in the line were there to support the film.  I told her she should get a ticket and see it too.

My nieces were in the moment as well, feeling like part of the crowd.  We got into the theater, got situated, the movie started and there we were, all together, in the dark, one people.  Laughing.  Having fun.  I loved hearing my neices' laughter t as they got the jokes, as they saw the quirky nature of their people on the screen.  The Armenian scenery was beautiful.  There in the dark the whole audience was one.  United by this fun movie and a pride in belonging to one another.  The movie ended, the lights went up.  As we left the theater we passed the new line up of people waiting to see the next showing. And I think that too lead to the pride of the evening.  Seeing that a movie by one of our own was a success.  Young and old, new to this country and not so new..they were all lined up.  I think the feeling of the evening had to do with that success.  That night, as a people, WE were a success!   As we do all too often, as a people, we come together when things aren't going well...to protest, or to commemorate the genocide.  Victims.  But maybe the act of gathering together to claim a part of this film as our own changed something inside us...and for one evening, we were all one.  And it was so good!!  I think that's what we need more of.  To celebrate our Armenianness...our oneness with one another through our SUCCESSES!

So what are your thoughts on this?  I'd love to hear from you.  Please leave your comments here on the blog.

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Want to hear the audio version of this piece....and some other pomegranatey stuff?  Well, I've got my own podcast now called Inside the Pomegranate!  I've joined the ePostal family of podcasts.  You can subscribe by following the link on my main blog page, or visiting www.epostle.net.  I'm on iTunes as well.  So subscribe! And get Inside the Pomegranate sent to your mailbox!!

Remembering Dad (Audio)

Inside the Pomegranate - Podcast episode #1
This is an audio version of Remembering Dad.  Look for "Inside the Pomegranate" podcast coming to Blubrry and iTunes very soon!

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Remembering Dad

My dad and my daughter Ani - Christmas 1987
His grandchildren were his pride and joy!

This past Sunday was Father's Day here in the States.  My father passed away over 20 years ago. When you have your own children you still feel the loss of your father on this day but because you are busy creating Father's day for your own family, those memories end up getting set aside.  My children are grown now and are now including us in their own celebrations.  As I saw all the posts on Facebook of friends with their fathers, it made me really miss my own father.  And it gave me time to reflect on some of my memories of him and how much he influenced who I am today.
So I put together some things that I learned over the years....from being my father's daughter:

1.  You never stop learning:  My dad taught us that the sky's the limit when it came to learning.  He was a true believer in the school of life, and he taught us - his four children - that the day we stop learning is the day you die.  He had a natural curiosity.  He loved to read.  He knew a lot about all sorts of things.  We could ask him any question and he'd know the answer...OR, if he didn't, he'd help us find the answer.  We'd take trips as a family to the library every two weeks, each of us with our own library card.  We'd check out the maximum 10 books and bring them home.  We learned all about everything...and we learned the importance of reading.  He was always trying new projects.  One year my mom bought him a book about oriental rugs and how they were loomed.  The next thing I knew he had me in the car and we were driving across town for the right wool for his project - weaving mini sample rugs on a frame loom he built. He learned all about natural dying of the wool, knotting techniques, even about carding wool and making your own yarn.  Like I said, he was naturally curious.

When I was about 18,  I saw an article in a magazine about stained glass windows.  I thought, how cool would that be...to be able to cut glass and make something lasting with transparent color.  Right off he encouraged me to try to learn the craft.  The very next day we went and bought tools.  He encouraged me to sign up for a class.  He was always pro-education.  Whatever you learned was to your advantage.  There was no "useless information."  Eventually, I loved working in stained glass so much that I started my own business for while designing and making windows.  All because of that magazine and my father.

2.  Play a musical instrument!  My father  was incredibly musical, and he made sure to pass this love of music on to his children.  We all had to pick an instrument that we wanted to play. He sent us off to music lessons when we were young.  It wasn't a luxury.  It was a necessity.  Music was very important.  It was not only an escape but a discipline.  He himself  was a fantastic violinist, self taught. He was a pharmacist by trade and while in pharmacy school, he helped pay for his college by working as a gypsy violinist at a restaurant.  He'd wear a scarf, a clip on hoop earring, and his shalvar pants from his armenian dance costume.  And he'd set out to play dinner music on his violin.   My mom told me he was quite the romantic. But his musical talent  didn't stop at the violin. He played the mandolin, the oud, and the duduk as well.

He was my duet partner. We were always working on perfecting Bach's double violin concerto in Db minor- dad on violin and me on the flute. Measure by measure we'd go through the runs and the timing.  I'd get so frustrated because there was definitely a difference between blowing and bowing!  And though his fingers could fly over the strings of his violin, I had a whole different sequence of breatheing and blowing to deal with on the flute.   We played casuals for events around town - parties, anniversaries.  We even worked one summer together at Ports o'Call in San Pedro, a little touristy fisherman's village.  The management hired us as strolling musicians to add a little local color.  Great memories.

3.  Be kind to the homeless; tip street musicians; and buy lemonade from lemonade stands!:  I had painted this on the wall of my kitchen in my old home because I think this really gave me a sense of who my father was.  He was a softy.  Kind and compassionate.  He is the reason that I am involved in our homeless ministry.  Because as a child we were told to be kind to the homeless.  To care for them...provide for them.  On holidays we would deliver food to our community's homeless...on bus benches and behind stores.  My father taught me that the homeless are "just people, like you and me," and that we should be kind to them because other's aren't. My mom reminded me of the time we had all gone to the Canter's, a local deli for dinner.  We had just ordered our dinner when a homeless man walked in and asked if he could please buy a cup of coffee.  The management refused to serve him.  My father was insensed!  He ordered us all to get up.  He refused to eat there if they wouldn't serve the man...and we never stepped foot in there after that.  At the time, I remember how embarassed I felt because we had made a scene.  Now, I feel so proud that we took a stand and more so of the valuable lesson he action held.

On tipping street musicians:  Because  my father had been a struggling  musician, we would help them as well.  Good or bad...if they were playing on the street, he would always slip us money to put in their open case.  He said they bring music to the world and they're playing on the street because they want to share that joy.  We should appreciate them for what they do!

And lemonade?  Who doesn't love lemonade...and who doesn't love children? We would pull over for lemonade stands to encourage the children that were selling.  Not only would my dad buy the lemonade, but he would slurp it down, making the kids giggle, and he'd smile and thank the kids,  and tell them it was really the best lemonade he had ever had in his life.  He was all about making people feel good.

4.  The kitchen is the soul of the house:  I've told you about dad's violin playing.  He would lose himself in his music.  And his favorite room to do this in?  The kitchen.  In fact he would do almost everything in the kitchen including read, weave, and of course, play violin.  This would drive mom crazy, because he would plant himself right in the center and play one of his concerti.  She be trying to cook dinner, or deal with one of us and there he'd play.  He loved the kitchen and explained it this way.  The kitchen is the soul of the house.  It's where we gather to eat, to pray around the table.  It's a family place.  What better place could there be to spend your time at home?  We were lucky.  We lived in a large California craftsman home that had a square kitchen layout.  Eventually, my parents moved and the new house had a much smaller kitchen, the shape of which was long and narrow. One of my favorite photos is one of my dad holding my daughter Ani on his lap.  She was probably all of 2 or 3 and by then .  So in the picture, there's dad sitting on a chair smack in the middle of the narrow kitchen - not at the table or at the counter.  Nope, right in the middle, with his granddaughter on his lap...reading her her favorite story.

And finally, 5.  Don't be satisfied with a "C"   This was an important one.  We could never be happy with getting C's on our report cards.  A "C" meant you were "Satisfactory".  And while that was okay for some, it was not good enough for my dad.  Getting a C meant that you weren't applying yourself.  That you were just "okay".  As a kid I only applied this to my grades, but as I grew older I realized there was a greater message he was getting across.  Don't be okay with just being okay.  Be the best you can be...do the best you can do.  Try to do better. Always ask yourself, "Is that the best I can do."  The idea was not to be afraid to be "uncomfortable" in your quest to do better.  Push yourself.  Apply yourself.

There are so many other things I can tell you about my dad.  He was really an incredible person and a loving father.  When he passed away at age 58, the loss was huge...but I felt an even deeper loss for my children who would grow up not knowing his love, his wit and not being able to experience is beautiful smile and his strong hugs.  He taught me so much about life, about myself, and the older I get, the more I find that I have some of his same quirks.  Like leaving my shoes laying around the house, playing my flute in the kitchen, whistling through my teeth.  I can't pass a street musician without leaving a tip.  I can't pass a homeless person without saying hello, and I always stop to buy lemonade.

His simple lessons are instilled in all of us kids, and in my mom as well.  I'll close with a cute little story, because today would have been my parents 58th anniversary.  Several years ago, on my parents anniversary, my mom stopped at the cemetary to put flowers on dad's grave.  As she pulled up, she noticed the sprinklers were on.  She sat in the car and after waiting a long time decided that maybe she would just say her prayer in the car, leave the flowers at the curb, and come back another time.  As she was saying her prayer, she heard my father's voice.  "Is that the best you can do, Anne?"  She had to smile.  And she knew what she had to do.  She got out of the car, with the flowers, walked across the grass getting soaked by the sprinklers to go pay dad a visit.  And as she stood there all wet, she just knew inside, that my dad was looking down, smiling!

So Happy Father's day to all of you Dad's out there...and all of you single mom's that fill dad's shoes too!