MY FIRST IRANIAN
He was handsome – young and handsome – black eyes, long lashes and curly dark hair. He was soft spoken and polite. He looked into my eyes and smiled as he spoke to me. What’s that?* he asked, when I laughed out loud at his bold attempt to begin a conversation as I waited for the red light to change to green at the corner crosswalk.
I had been on my way to dance class in “The City”. To save money for a small treat after my usual Flamenco-filled Saturday with Maestro Jose de la Cruz, guitarists and other students, I walked from the bus terminal, as usual, to the basement dance studio.
I don’t remember his name, it was 42 years ago. I must have given him my telephone number sometime during the remainder of the walk to dance class. He may have waited for me and walked me to the bus station. He told me he was an Iranian student living in the area. I had been fascinated by all things “Middle Eastern” since the 4th grade, so I was interested in this handsome, very polite, proper and seemingly sincere handsome young man from the exotic east.
I don’t remember his name, but the one thing I do remember about him, is how driven he was. After one or two short telephone conversations, in the next few days, he showed up, very well dressed in suit and tie, at my parent’s front door. In his hands were a dozen red roses, which he presented to my mother.
Of course I had told my parents about his fascinating young man and in those days’ good parents insisted on meeting any young man their daughter was considering going on “a date” with. My Iranian was more than happy to speak mostly to my father that day, as my mother and I sat quietly listening to their short conversation. It soon became very apparent that he wished to marry me! Yes, that’s right.
Again, I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember that I was appalled when I realized he was trying to negotiate with my father to buy a bride! He so wanted an American wife, from a decent family, he said, a family who certainly could not turn down the bride price. Daddy must have seen the horror on my face as my parents and I certainly all realized what was going on. He stood up and invited my first Iranian to leave his home, never to return.
I soon forgot about the incident as I went on with my 1960’s innocent school girl ways. It wasn’t until about six years later that I met my second Iranian at Harrah’s Casino.
*What was it my first Iranian was referring to? It was the silver fillings in my upper and lower molars that he had never seen before. He was curious about the how and why of that metal dental work and that was the line.
Looking back at that day, I often wonder if all that silver would have gained my dad a better price for me, had we all succumbed to the charm and money of my first contact with the Iranian’s quests for American wives.
I had been on my way to dance class in “The City”. To save money for a small treat after my usual Flamenco-filled Saturday with Maestro Jose de la Cruz, guitarists and other students, I walked from the bus terminal, as usual, to the basement dance studio.
I don’t remember his name, it was 42 years ago. I must have given him my telephone number sometime during the remainder of the walk to dance class. He may have waited for me and walked me to the bus station. He told me he was an Iranian student living in the area. I had been fascinated by all things “Middle Eastern” since the 4th grade, so I was interested in this handsome, very polite, proper and seemingly sincere handsome young man from the exotic east.
I don’t remember his name, but the one thing I do remember about him, is how driven he was. After one or two short telephone conversations, in the next few days, he showed up, very well dressed in suit and tie, at my parent’s front door. In his hands were a dozen red roses, which he presented to my mother.
Of course I had told my parents about his fascinating young man and in those days’ good parents insisted on meeting any young man their daughter was considering going on “a date” with. My Iranian was more than happy to speak mostly to my father that day, as my mother and I sat quietly listening to their short conversation. It soon became very apparent that he wished to marry me! Yes, that’s right.
Again, I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember that I was appalled when I realized he was trying to negotiate with my father to buy a bride! He so wanted an American wife, from a decent family, he said, a family who certainly could not turn down the bride price. Daddy must have seen the horror on my face as my parents and I certainly all realized what was going on. He stood up and invited my first Iranian to leave his home, never to return.
I soon forgot about the incident as I went on with my 1960’s innocent school girl ways. It wasn’t until about six years later that I met my second Iranian at Harrah’s Casino.
*What was it my first Iranian was referring to? It was the silver fillings in my upper and lower molars that he had never seen before. He was curious about the how and why of that metal dental work and that was the line.
Looking back at that day, I often wonder if all that silver would have gained my dad a better price for me, had we all succumbed to the charm and money of my first contact with the Iranian’s quests for American wives.
posted by Ms. Mary at 5:32 PM
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