Promises of good fortune and tellings of a good life in their homeland reached the ears
of my greatgrandparents, two Armenians living in Aleppo, Syria. The year of 1946 brought
the call of the motherland to their ears. They made the great decision of moving to Armenia
that year — the home to all the Armenians across the world and the cradle of an ancient, rich
culture and history. Upon getting there, my greatgrandparents were shocked. During those
years, Armenia was a part of the Soviet Union under the reign of Joseph Stalin, and paranoia
and fright were ransacking the country. A few months later, my greatgrandparents were
exiled and forced to move to Siberia along with many others under the command of Stalin.
Disheartened and dispirited, they made the great move and settled in a small village in
Siberia, all alone.
They lived in awful conditions; they resided in a dugout shelter which was rooted deep
in the ground and covered in mud to protect against the harsh, biting cold of the Siberian
winters. My greatgrandfather served as a lumberjack and cut trees. Lack of transportation led
him to travel everywhere by foot, and when he was at work, he had to face the possibility of a
wolf attack. In exchange for all his hard work, he was paid a very low wage which barely
provided enough food for him and his wife to survive. Their firstborn baby boy died when he
was only a few months old due to pneumonia and the absence of proper medication. Months
later, they had a daughter, my grandmother, who later became a teacher.
After living in Siberia and enduring hardships for seven years, the family was finally
allowed to return home to Yerevan, Armenia. Years filled with more difficulties flew by and
soon, my grandmother met my grandfather. In 1972, my dear mother was born. In 1989, my
greatgrandparents moved to Los Angeles, California, being the first people from our family
tree to move to America. My mother met my father further down the road, and after they
married, they made the great decision of coming over to America in 1999.
At that time in Armenia, my father was working as a surgeon, but was making around
11,000 drams each month, which is the equivalent to a mere $20$40. My parents were living
with my grandmother from my father’s side as well as my uncle and his wife in a very small
apartment. They knew it would be extremely difficult to raise a child in those conditions. The
allure of America was very tempting, however it felt farfetched for my parents. They knew all
about America — it is the land of opportunity that draws everyone in with the flash of its
beacon and the bright flicker of Lady Liberty’s passionate flames. It murmurs softly about life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, things that were foreign to so many people. My parents
had made a very difficult decision — one that forced them to part from their families, their
close friends, and their beloved country. My parents moved in to a small apartment located in
Los Angeles with my greatgrandparents, who still live there. About seven months later, a
baby girl entered their lives, and they named her Elen.
My parents were so much more affected by the move than I was. My mother was a
stay at home mom and still is to this day. My father had to work multiple jobs tirelessly, but it
payed off when they rented out their first apartment. Since my father came from a foreign
country, his medical license was no longer valid. This was a major setback which led to even
more complications. My mother had no help raising me, and yet she did a flawless job. Since
my father was out a lot trying to provide for us, my mother and I spent more time together and
we formed a really close bond. She would keep in contact with our relatives in Armenia by
videotaping and photographing everything I did and sending the VCRs and pictures there.
Even though all my relatives are on the other side of the world, they saw me grow up and
mature and become who I am today.
In 2004, my grandparents came to live with us in America to help my parents out.
When they first arrived, they were just two total strangers in the airport. Yet, they knew all
about me due to the dozens of videotapes that were sent to them. My grandfather tried to
apply for many jobs to help my father, but he was rejected every time. He was even turned
away when he offered to work as a volunteer. I’m sure the fact that my mother had her
parents by her side really gave her a sense of comfort. The road was rocky at first, and it
definitely took time to get used to everything, especially the two strangers who were living in
the same house as me.
I come from a long line of extremely hard workers which makes the pride within me
swell. My entire family put together a great effort to make a comfortable and secure
environment for me which I am eternally grateful for. My grandmother temporarily worked at a
bagel shop; my grandfather worked as a taxi driver and then worked in a warehouse making
billiard cue sticks and tips. I began school with no knowledge of the English language
because I had grown up speaking and only hearing Armenian and only watched Armenian or
Russian children’s shows. But I am a quick and avid learner, so I had no difficulties. We
relocated to a new and bigger apartment and a few years later, my brother, Allen, was born,
and we relocated once again. My father started to study for his board exams, and that meant
sacrificing a lot of family time. Meanwhile, my grandparents moved out into an apartment of
their own, and my grandmother began going to a community college. In 2012, after passing all
the board exams successfully, my father was accepted into a residency program in Ohio,
about 3,000 miles away from our home. I remember the day I found out like it was yesterday.
We left behind our old lives and moved to Ohio where we are living now. All my family’s hard
work will be payed off in only five months when my father graduates from his residency
program and receives the license he greatly deserves.
Being a firstgeneration American has not been difficult because my parents and
grandparents are the ones who have absorbed all the blows. My parents’ decision to move
West made all the difference in our lives. My life would have been completely different had my
parents stayed in Armenia, and I’m sure it would’ve been laden with difficulties. My brother
and I grew up in a sound and very sheltered environment, and we received the best possible
provided by our family. I am thankful and blessed to have the life that I have. My family’s
immigration story inspires me in every single way, and I hope that I can carry on their legacy
of hard work and dedication.
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