Dear Dad:
How are things going inside the pearly gates? I trust you’re in fine company and you keep your harp well-tuned.
I could have sent you an email but have no idea what the computer situation is like in heaven. Besides, a letter is still far more personal. You always believed that, being a man of letters yourself.
Hard to believe 35 years have passed since you left us. I can remember gathering by your bedside and hearing your words of reassurance.
“I’m going on to a better world,” you said. “Take care of mother.”
Well, mother has turned 98 and is still full of pep, living inside a nursing home and keeping the other residents amused with her humor and wisdom. Who would have ever guessed she would become the last remaining survivor of the Armenian Genocide in our city?
Bet you thought by now both of you would be reunited. Wait a while! She wants a letter from the president when she turns 100.
You must have been surprised like the rest of us to be joined by your other favorite son, whose funeral was 10 years ago. He went much too quickly.
A lot has happened since then. We have five grandchildren, ages 8 months to 8 years. The oldest two are in school and doing well. They play deck hockey, basketball, tennis, and are into computer games. Two other boys are ages 3 and 2, fight over each other’s toys and compete for attention. You would have loved their vitality.
Mazie’s the newest arrival and a real head-turner when she steps out in public. Had you been alive, you would have spoiled five grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren. When they visit mother in the nursing home, it turns into a romper room as you might expect.
Your years on earth didn’t go very far when you consider 66. The pity of it all was the fact you never did get to enjoy retirement like me. But it was a good and decent life, dad, full of abundance.
One thing I learned over the years: A man never knows how to be a son until he has become a father. You were well ahead of your time. You always had the best answers. I remember one time loafing around the street when you took me aside and gave me some advice.
You said, “The best way to kill time is to work it to death.” I never forgot that.
The coffee shop you operated for 30 years has since been replaced by business offices. Same with the movie theater next door, which was your grand escape on a hectic Sunday afternoon. We’d find you napping away in the back row.
I paid $12 to get into a movie last weekend. Gone are the days when you could see two pictures for a quarter. When I used to devour a nickel chocolate bar, you chastised me for eating the profits.
The schoolhouses we attended as kids have given way to ultra-modern apartment complexes. The face of the neighborhood has changed dramatically. Your best friend is seldom your neighbor anymore.
After four decades of newspaper work, I finally retired four years ago after seeing some of the luster taken out of the industry. More and more people are getting their news off the internet and television. Remember when we used to have only four channels? Now I have 150 choices and TV screens are like movie screens. You build a room around one.
I’m still writing. The Armenian papers look forward to getting stories as well as my own Haverhill Gazette, where I still contribute a weekly column. I continue to live by the Golden Rule—and get the last word.
I’ve been to Armenia twice, traveled the Mediterranean, and we’ll be taking our third Caribbean cruise this January.
At least you got to drive across country just before your cancer struck. I remember you telling me to visit the national parks if I did nothing else. That’s next on my agenda.
Nancy still enjoys following the school system, six years after she called it quits—disgruntled by the cutbacks in education. She feels students are being shortchanged and is happy to be out.
Colleges are up around $40,000-$50,000 a year these days. Remember how you balked at $2,500 when you sent me? You made me work for it in the coffee shop.
The world is fast progressing but I’m not so sure it’s all positive. What I wouldn’t give to be back in the 1950’s again with you.
‘Til death brings us back together, have a nice Father’s Day.
Your loving son,
Tom
Tom Vartabedian
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Thanks for sharing your letter with us. It connected to me, I feel like I lived through it too. I really liked your father’s words, “The best way to kill time was to work it to death.” I don’t think I will ever forget that either.
Tom, I look forward to your articles. I love your letter to your father. I lost my father less than 2 years ago at 101. Last living survivor in Worcester. We were on your first trip to Armenia, we went to Karabach with your group, hope you remember us. Keep up the good work.
God Bless You, Joe
Tom, what I love about your writing is that you appeal to the best emotions in all of us. Your value on the importance of honoring and learning from our past is an important theme for all of us. One of the things that makes the Armenian nation resilient is our family culture and you have spoken to it beautifully. Thanks.
Here I am thinking I was the only one who wrote letters to my departed father. It’s been alot of years but I too remember the brief but valuable lessons in life he parted on me through his words and especially his example. He had the wisdom of Solomon in spite of his formal education being cut short by the same circumstances most of our survivors experienced. Life was surely simpler then but there was no mistaking his priorities in life — family first and foremost, integrity in every part of your existence, and education. Simple, worthwhile, and timeless advise! Thanks Tom. This was a lovely Father’s day reminder for all of us.
—Mike Mirakian
Tom.. your letter brought tears to my eyes… I am 34 years old with father and mother. I pray to God every day to keep them healthy and strong… I understand how important it is to cherish every minute and never take any moment we spent with our families for granted… However, the lives we live here in US… alot of times interfere with our ability to have the connection and the bond we need to have and build with our loved ones.. we wake up at 6am and return home 8pm… Our lives feels like a freeway… going 90 miles per hour.. (yes i do speed sometimes.. but don’t tell anyone..:) )
Thank you for taking us back to the innocent and beautiful life you had with your father… He is definintely in a better place.. with our Father… and I am sure he watches down with a smile on his face.. not because life gotten any better but he sees his family growing and happy… May God look after your dear mother.. She is definintely a hero to live as long as she has… and President Obama BETTER recognize her once she turns 100.. I hope all of our parents live to be 100 spreading their love, laughter and their knowledge everyone around…
God Bless..
Gayane
My Dear Gayane:
Yes, you could easily bring tears to my eyes.
My mom will turn 86 this year. I have known her since she was 20 (when she had me) My father passed away 28 May 1997 (Yes we are Tashnags) just as I returned home from Montreal.
Please, please take time with parents. I know you want to and it’s difficult, especially with life in this part of the world.
God Bless all who honour their Mothers & Fathers!
G
Mersi Gary jan… shat mersi…
I am doing my best… but i can tell you one thing.. no matter how little we see each other (even if we live under the same place).. I will die for my loved ones.. they are my life..and will always be…
I wish all of our Armenian mothers and fathers healthy lives surrounded with their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren and alot of love…
Thanks Tom for your soulful letter…I hope you will carry the genes of your mother;
usually the sons do…
If you don’t have cholesterol, sugar…So you will live 100 and more…
So you can write more interesting letters to us…
This poem I wrote to my father…can be song…I need a singer to sing
Charles*: You Sang ‘She’
I will sing ‘He’**
He, he is the man
I can’t forget
The genes that I carry
Without regret.
He never left treasures,
What he worked for.
Gone with the wind—
No trace left.
But He left
His smile,
Endlessly gracing
My fiery hart.
He was a saint
‘Unnamed’
I never felt
Like his daughter.
Now I am rich
With a poetic hart
For him
I search
But cannot find.
I want to tell
How much
I loved him.
When I was young
I never knew His Harted-Mind
So wonderful,
So kind.
Sylva-MD-Poetry
________________
from the Poetry collection ” Sylva’s Serenade dative Eyes” 2010
* Charles Aznavour: French -Armenian singer
**Krikor Portoian (1907-1985)
Gary
I was shocked to hear what you are…
Are you born with it
Or your brought up
In that atmosphere
A very clever man asked me today
To write about atheist
Read and understand
and don’t define your self
We don’t need all divisions
we had enough of that…
______________________
Are you Atheist?
We are born atheist
Religion is signed on us
We can’t get rid of it
Till our skeleton…Eaten by insects
So no religion shall remain…
If we don’t have offspring
Our souls will disappear…!
I can’t feel there are
Any soul in the sky…!
Sylva-MD-Poetry
June 19, 2011
____________
Tom what a nice letter to your dad in heaven.
My dad is also in heaven now for the past 31 years and I still remember his stories of the old country, where he came from Palu in Western Armenia. The greatest lessons he thaught me through his words and examples was humanity, wisdom and above all to be a patriotic Armenian. He was a hard working the Armenian man who worked 10 hours a day and came home to teach me mathematics and how to draw the perfect maps. My father was the best example of an Armenian family man who had integrity and much wisdom. The love that I received from my dad and my newly departed mother has carved the way for the woman I have become. I love you both dearly Mom and dad and I know that you are both now in heaven together as God’s angels, same as you were on earth when you were with me.
Seervart
Seervart jan,
I know for SURE and for A FACT that your mom and dad are absolutely PROUD OF who you become.. the woman that you are…You sure are one Patrioric Armenian woman my dear..:)
Hugs
G
Tom,
I share your love of letter writing and even wrote an article called “The Lost Art of Letter Writing” that eventually led to a book entitled THE LOST ARTS OF MODERN CIVILIZATION (www.neumannpress.com). You are so right:there is nothing like a personal letter to lift the heart, soul, and spirit and be reminded of what it means to be human.
kalpakgian@juno.com
Mitchell Kalpakgian– kalpakgian@juno.com