How is it possible, you may ask, for two siblings from the same family to become such polar opposites?
Time and again, I see such an extreme, whether it’s two brothers, two sisters, or one of each. The reference I wish to make is toward their Armenian heritage.
How one can become so active and the other so inert is well beyond me. Same parents. Same home. Similar upbringing. Yet, varied personalities and interests.
I know two brothers who are such exact opposites, I often marvel at their dissimilarities. While one attends and grows involved with the Armenian Church, the other attends an American house of worship.
The former married another Armenian, his brother didn’t. One belongs to multiple associations and contributes heavily to the welfare of his people, traveling to Armenia regularly and taking a deep-rooted interest in the population, while his brother remains sporadic toward any such endeavor.
They appear as unrelated as oil and vinegar.
I could very well write about my own family experience with regard to discord. We were raised in part by the same grandmother who spoke the language fluently in our home. I picked it up. My brother didn’t.
While I attended Armenian school, my brother balked, despite my mother’s insistence. I enhanced my Armenian at the Mekhitarist School in Vienna. My brother bade me farewell and took over my room.
I introduced him to a nice Armenian girl in the AYF. They dated once or twice then broke up. He claimed she was too conceited. Same with music. While I cherished Armenian, he favored American rock.
I look at the Bulgers. You have William holding an honorable position as a Democratic Party guru, a lawyer and educator, while brother James reigns as America’s most notorious crime boss.
You would never think they were cut from the same family cloth. They could make a movie out of this to complement the books that have been written on the subject. Might be a subplot to a sitcom called “Brawl in the Family.”
Much as I tried, I was unsuccessful in getting my brother involved internally. We did attend the same Armenian church and served as altar boys. But that’s where the similarities ended. I trust he gained something from that experience, though it never showed on the outside.
And consequently, his children never got involved in Armenian affairs, while mine went through the AYF ranks and attended Armenian school through their teenage years.
My cousins were the same way. While one was distinct, the other became extinct. We were all raised by genocide survivors with strong ethnic origins. Sad as it seems, I see none of my relatives in church and community circles.
The thing most needed in the Armenian home today is the family that remains homogeneous, particularly when it comes to the welfare of our people.
As parents, we do our best to involve our children. We may introduce them to certain stabilities in their lives, hoping it may make a difference. Some turn out all the wiser by their experience. Others tend to rebel.
There are no simple answers or quick remedies. I’ve also seen American-born siblings who speak the Armenian language fluently and are more ethnically fertile than their parents who planted the seed.
The children I’ve taught in Armenian school for the most part have no knowledge about the language. They get very little ethnic upbringing at home and have isolated themselves over time.
But there are exceptions. In the case of two cousins, the one who was totally immersed in the Armenian mainstream wound up drifting apart. The other, who was segregated from his nationality, became the one who returned to his roots.
He went off to college, joined an Armenian club, met an Armenian girl, and wound up marrying her. Together, they brought three children into the world, who remain emissaries for their kind.
You never would have guessed that someone so ignoble would have become that immersed. I happened to ask him about that one day.
He gave the credit to the woman he wed. It was a revelation for him, attending lectures and concerts he never patronized, learning the language of his ancestors he once rebuked, and visiting the country he never dreamed about.
The trip turned into a Utopia for the man, introducing him to a side he never could identify with. Maybe it’s being fortuitous in a world that offers so much spontaneity.
I’ve heard it said that a family tree is like riding in a train backwards. It shows you where you came from but not where you’re going.
Tom Vartabedian
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