This April 24, if it’s a nice day, I’ll get my garden in order

by Tom Vartabedian

Published: Wednesday April 21, 2010

Greater Worcester Armenian Chorale presented a musical tribute to Genocide victims during Merrimack Valley observances April 18. Tom Vartabedian

Haverhill, Mass. - I am a proud Armenian-American. And why shouldn't I be?

I am the son of immigrant parents who escaped the genocide and fled to America where they lived in peace and worshipped in security. They raised me to speak the language and understand the history of my people.

They introduced me to culture and brought me to an Armenian Church each Sunday. I reciprocated by becoming an acolyte and reciting Armenian poems at the hantess.

I joined an Armenian youth group and got politically involved. My friends were Armenian. My social standards were Armenian. My life was Armenian.

As I proceeded through school, I gained other interests. I found sports more compelling and followed members of the opposite sex. Gradually, I began drifting apart and suddenly, the heritage didn't mean that much to me anymore.

In college, I joined a fraternity. There was an Armenian Club on campus looking for members and I felt it my duty to attend. My friends encouraged me to take an active stand, run for an office, and help organize the standard observances. After a meeting or two, I lost interest.

Maybe I could have made a difference had I stuck it out, but the social life on campus seemed more inviting. The coeds, too. I approached a group of Armenian students waving their flag during some ritual. I could have stopped and inquired. Instead, I kept walking.

The church I had attended was no longer an option, due to other circumstances. Because I was removed, I found it more palatable to sleep longer on Sunday mornings. Armenians live in a Diaspora. The Armenian world was becoming my personal melting pot where once it had become my stomping ground.

My parents told me one day that I was changing. They said I was losing my identity and that they didn't raise me to become assimilated. Rather, united to a cause, their cause, the Armenian Cause.

Maybe they were right. But I was old enough to draw my own conclusions. Not that I was willing to disregard my culture. After all, I was a proud Armenian with a prominent Armenian name and nobody was going to take that attribute away from me.

Until I started dating non-Armenians and stumbling upon a different lifestyle --- one that involved everyone else's heritage except my own.

As the years passed on, I found myself drifting further and further apart. People would ask about my name and I would tell them it belonged to a proud Armenian. My regular visits to church turned into token appearances now.

The letters and flyers that arrive to my home aren't given a second thought anymore. Where once I was supporting one charity after another, now it's become irrelevant.

There is the Independence Day anniversary at our church. Perhaps I should be there. But the weather is more suitable for a ride to the beach or getting my yard in order.

It's also time for another genocide commemoration. After all, I owe it to my parents to attend, if for no other reason but to pay them homage. But they're gone now. They won't notice. Neither will the dedicated few who show up these days.

You hear one genocide speech, you hear them all. Why do Armenians have to sound so redundant and preach to their own? Perhaps I shouldn't have secured those theater tickets but it sounded more inviting.

As I look upon my Armenian-American life now, I find myself more attuned to everyday surroundings and not my ethnicity. I've grown nonchalant.

If it's a case of supporting a worthy Armenian event, I look for every excuse not to oblige. Inside my community which boasts a worthy Armenian population, I've become one of those on the outside looking in. Call it apathy. Call it temperamental. Call it anything you choose.

I've been asked to join an organization. I may consider it someday but for now, I have the kind of job where time is relevant and family obligations are critical. Other priorities tend to interfere with my heritage.

Hey, I'm not alone. The way I look at it, we're living inside a new generation where people have different mindsets, diverse personalities. Maybe this was my answer to rebellion. Had I been raised in a liberal home, perhaps the outcome would have differed.

It is the 95th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide. I hear there are four observances in my community. Do we need that many to get the message out to our own people?

April 24th is upon us. If it's a nice day, I'll get my garden going. And hopefully, Armenia will forgive me.