A Very Remarkable Time

Soooo I wake up again to the United States bombing another country. This is becoming a thing.

Not something I want.

There are so many thoughts rattling around my brain—I’m wracked with guilt for just being alive and living in this country, guilty of trying to ignore what Washington is doing. For many people it is more than a disruption—it is shifting the very course of their life.

On Sunday, a day after the initial bombings, I attended a little boy’s birthday party, where I was the only non-Iranian person there. I’m not sure I can convey historically how this felt.

I took my shoes off at the door and kissed my host. I clutched her and said, “Khamenei is dead.”

First: She corrected my pronunciation of his name, then, shook her head: “This is not what I wanted.”

I said, “Me, too! But I’m hearing that some Iranian-Americans are very happy. Glad that the US has stepped in.”

My friend acknowledged this. Everyone has their own opinion. But, a war . . . More people will die.—My thoughts, exactly!

She told me they thought abut cancelling the party, but the children would not understand—Why?

She also quickly told me before others arrived that not everyone invited was on the same page. I nodded. So maybe don’t bring it up—current events.

But—it didn’t take long after the house filled up with Farsi speakers, young and old, that the war was on everyone’s mind.

I was also acutely aware that I was not a fly on the wall. I was the only non-Iranian there.

The first person to sit next to me on the sofa had a little boy. I asked if he lived in Okemos—yes. Before that the Netherlands. He was originally from Tehran. I said I’d love to visit Iran one day. He said you’d hate it. I was a little shocked. I said, What about the food? The markets? The historical sites?

He did not deny all that—but after two months, you’d be happy to come back. Sure, I thought. He indicated he’d never go back.

The very next person, also a father to—not sure: The kids were running around like crazy, killing the balloons, shrieking. There was music, ambient conversation, I had to keep an eye on the youngest I’d brought—whom we call the baby, though two years old, just dangerous to get into EVERYTHING, which he did. Spilling his drink, eating too many grapes off the kiddie treat table. There were Persian carpets everywhere, nice upholstered furniture. Oh my God! So much to ruin.

Anyway, this other man told me he was so happy. “I would love to return now!”

And, I’m thinking, let’s not get ahead of ourselves: We don’t know how this will end. But, maybe I will be able to visit Iran in my lifetime. Maybe.

Meanwhile, we did eventually forget there was a world out there. The room with music and dancing, the beautiful buffet that came out of the oven, the delicious food, became front of mind. The cake! The baby drank cup after cup of apple juice. I realized I’d brought nothing to change him into if there was an accident. I was unprepared. Again, a life analogy.

We were the first to leave, after three hours. I imagined everyone happy to be rid of us: The loud messy children (the baby discovered the crackers and destroyed them), the uncomprehensive woman. I pictured everyone relaxing into their problems, open conversations about current events. OR maybe, because I was there, the division of opinion was held at bay.

All I know is, here in the States, we could not have a roomful of pros and cons and borderline. People would have to stake their side, stand their ground, and fight off opponents. Very few families can gather these days and not end up arguing about politics,

This is a very remarkable time, shadow and sunlight, one day frigid cold, the next welcome warmth, anything can happen—and I was there, am there, trying to keep the kids from spilling juice on the carpet.