T’was the Fight Before Christmas

Excerpt from LAUGHNG WITHOUT AN ACCENT


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T’was the Fight Before Christmas
by Firoozeh Dumas
15-Jul-2008
 

Laughing Without an Accent
Adventures of an Iranian American, at Home and Abroad
Random House 2008

 

The second year we were married, Francois decided to invite my parents for Christmas. “I want them to experience a French Christmas meal,” he said, displaying the enthusiasm he reserves for elaborate menus.

My parents were more than happy. My father called the next day to give us their flight information. “We arrive at noon on Dec. 25,” he said, “at Oakland Airport.” “That’s the wrong airport!” I said.

“The airport near you guys was too expensive,” he explained.

“They’re arriving when?!? Francois asked, rather incredulously. “And why are they arriving at the wrong airport? Tell them to change their flight. “

I called my father. “We can’t change the flight,” he said “It’s one of those special fares. We just won’t come.”

“No, of course not! We’ll pick you up. No problem,” I said.

Francois reluctantly agreed to change his Christmas lunch to a Christmas dinner. He also agreed to pick up my parents since my father told him that I would probably get lost and they felt much more comfortable if he came.

“Your family is very difficult,” he said.

“But they love you,” I reminded him.

For the next three weeks, all our conversations centered around The Menu.

“Would your parents like carpaccio?”

“No.”

“Would they try quail eggs?”

“No.”

“Bone marrow on toast?”

“Dad yes, mom definitely no.”

My parents arrived on Dec. 25 in jovial moods. This would be their first Christmas meal with somebody who actually celebrates Christmas and they came laden with gifts. Francois put the gifts aside to be opened after dinner.

“Open them now!” my parents insisted, shoving their mismatched luggage behind the Christmas tree.

Many of my relatives had sent a gift or a card, each with my husband’s name spelled differently, none correctly. Francois was nonetheless touched by the sentiment behind the misspellings. The cards were charming, in a non-traditional way. “Merry Christmas to Franseos! Many happy days and healthy!

My parents always buy wrapping paper on sale, paying attention only to the pretty colors. As Francois held his stack of gifts, all emblazoned with “Happy Birthday!” and “Congratulations Graduate!” he looked a bit puzzled. A steep learning curve lay ahead of him.

The first, second and third gifts were tri-color sweaters with a zig-zaggy pattern so popular with infomercial salesmen, men who wear bracelets and my male relatives. After that came the bottle of Paco Robanne, a couple of ties and a pack of Calvin Klein underwear from my mother. My father also gave us a Christmas ornament that said “I Love Pugs!” which he had found on the luggage carousel.

We also received packets of saffron, a bag of dried limes for Persian stews and my favorite snack, tamarind paste.

Once we opened what we thought were all the gifts, my mother announced, “Von more for Fransva! Fransva, I make you carrot jam vit pistachio. I know you like!”

She went into the living room and came back with my father’s carry-on bag.

“You put it in my bag?” my father asked.

As my mother opened my father’s bag, a look of horror came upon her face. The jam had spilled.

This would be a mere nuisance for most people but the fact that it occurred in my father’s bag held monumental significance.

My father’s complex relationship with his carry-on bag probably requires psychoanalysis. For as long I can remember, his Iran Air bag, which he received one time when he flew first class, is always packed and ready to go. It is a constant source of comfort and pride. He keeps all his personal hygiene products in there, in miniature containers, which he refills constantly. He also keeps his various eye washes and drops, made necessary by a misdiagnosed and mistreated childhood bout of trachoma. He keeps clean underclothes, a hand towel and special cotton swabs for his eyes, along with a miniature flashlight, extra batteries and a radio. Everything is packed in a deliberate manner in neat rows, the clothes and towel on the bottom, then everything else by weight. He has shown the contents of this bag to me many, many times, with hope that I, too, will learn his organized ways. He also claims that whenever his bag is searched at the airport, the airline employee comments on the neatness of his bag. I have never believed this story but it makes my father happy so I just go along with it.

As soon as my mother announced the carrot jam disaster, my father leapt to his feet.

The lid of the jam had come off and everything, from his miniature Listerine container to his Grecian Formula 16, to his clothes, was covered with sticky, orange goo interspersed with slivers of pistachio. My father turned bright red.

“Why did you have to put the stupid jam in my bag?” he yelled at my mom, completely forgetting that there were others in the room.

“It was for Fransva,” my mother said, invoking the name of her new son-in-law as some sort of human shield.

“Why couldn’t you have put it in your bag?” my father asked.

“We’ll help clean everything,” I said.

“Why didn’t you put in a plastic bag?” my father continued.

“I was going to,” my mother meekly responded.

“But you didn’t,” my father continued. “Why didn’t you put it in a Ziploc? You put everything else in a Ziploc. You put Ziplocs in Ziplocs. Why didn’t you put the jam in a Ziploc? ”

It was clear this argument was going to go past New Year’s.

Francois and I tried to help my father clean the bottles but the Iran Air carry-on bag was ruined. Had we had a crystal ball, we would have told him that someday, he might not want to walk through an American airport with an Iran Air bag, lest he enjoy random checks, every time.

My mother was clearly embarrassed that her new son-in-law had just witnessed such an ugly scene. “I’m so sorry Fransva. The jam voz for you and so good.”

“Maybe he can eat my bag,” my father suggested.

For the rest of this story, please read “T’was the Fight Before Christmas” in Laughing Without an Accent.


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I didn't know I'm supposed to reply!!

by Firoozeh Dumas (not verified) on

Dear, dear reader,

I had no idea I am supposed to reply to this site! To all of you, THANK YOU! It is your kind comments that keep me writing.

Kepler's Bookstore has FREE shipping on orders over $50. Their phone is 650-324-4321. Please buy your books from them.

xo,
Firoozeh


ahvazi

Firoozeh khanoom...

by ahvazi on

laughing without an accent was awesome!

Damet Joosh :-)

 


Monda

So sweet and funny!

by Monda on

I got mine @amazon. I prefer shopping at small independant bookstores but the ones near us had sold out and as soon as I read this excerpt, I just had to have it yesterday!


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Firoozeh Joon

by Pesare' Arham Sadr (not verified) on

Why aren't you responding to some of these comments that people have left for you? I am sure that your English should be pretty good in writing!!

Maybe you are new to this site, but it's supposed to be a two-way street. People writing comments, and you responding.

We are awaiting ;)


Kaveh Nouraee

Firoozeh Khanoum

by Kaveh Nouraee on

I just want to let you know how much I enjoy your work. Funny In Farsi had me hooked from beginning to end, not only as it had me visualizing your recollections, but also how they instantly reminded me of the same instances in my own family.

Keep up the great work, and I wish you all the success in the world.

All the best.


bajenaghe naghi

Dear Firoozeh

by bajenaghe naghi on

It is my honor to write to you.  I have read 'Funny in Farsi' twice and have cried laughing cover to cover. I have two copies of this book at home and have given many copies as gift to my friends and family. Thank you for writing here and I will be reading your new book this weekend.


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Dear Firoozeh, I loved

by Mitra from khuzistan (not verified) on

Dear Firoozeh,
I loved your first book, and for what I have read so far I am gona love this one as well. I am reading Persian Girls by Nahid Rachlin, which I have enjoyed so far, nice reminder of how our parents grew up in old Ahvaz. When I read your first book I was delighted, to know someone out there has had similar experinces in Iran and here. I love you humor. I am proud of you and had thought of you often. LOve, MITRA


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Kepler's

by Maryam K. (not verified) on

Menlo Park is a town close to Palo Alto and Stanford University. You can call Kepler's and buy the book and have them ship it to you. It's a reputable bookstore.


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Firoozeh

by Aspiring writer (not verified) on

There are many people on this site who are writers: both prose and poetry. At the same time, many of them would like to be able to publish their work given the right opportunity.

Could you please share with us what your experience was in that regard?

Merci :)


Majid

Very true

by Majid on

So so typical ...LOL

خوب سیر تا پیاز همه مون رو به نخ کشیدی خانم، چس مثقال راز داشتیم اونم بر ملا شد!

 

Can't wait to buy the book(s)... 

!Say hello to Fransva


Mona 19

Funny & Charming Story :)

by Mona 19 on

Mrs.Dumas

I came by "Funny in Farsi" by accident and enjoyed reading each page of the book...I've got "Laughing without an accent " from our local library the other day and I believe it continues to delight and amuse much like your first book.

 

Best wishes to you,and your dear family and particularly my favorite character Kazem ;)

 

Respectfully,Mona


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I can't wait for more...

by American Wife (not verified) on

please please please keep posting excerpts... at least until I can get to a Persion book store! 

Maryam... where is Menlo Park?  I think near LA?


Niki Tehranchi

Are you sure we are not related?

by Niki Tehranchi on

Hehehe, I can relate to your writings so much. Can't wait to read this new book :)


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Great Author, Great Person

by Maryam K. (not verified) on

Love Firoozeh Dumas' books. Funny in Farsi was great and so I bought Laughing without an Accent just last week at Kepler's in Menlo Park. The guy at the register said Firoozeh is the sweetest author he's met.

They still have a few more autographed copies available. So, go grab a copy.

Wish you all the success Firoozeh. You're the best.


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Dear Firoozeh

by Haj Seyd Mammad (not verified) on

I read your first book 'Funny in Farsi' and it was hilarious.

Good Luck With this One - ;)