I recently visited my son’s family in another state. They are a small tribe: my son, his wife, and their two wonderful kids. The boy just turned thirteen this October, and his sister is two years younger.

Despite sharing the same parents and home, the kids are different. They embody the saying, “Boys are from Mars, girls from Venus,” as John Gray puts it.

I focus on the girl. She is remarkable. Smart, beautiful, and gifted in the arts. More than that, she is kind and attentive. During my brief visit, her words and actions left me in awe.

Her mother is American, so she knows her American roots well. But her father’s heritage intrigues her. She seeks to learn about it.

One day at the table, she asked me about my mother, who passed long ago. I asked her what she meant—did she want to know about her looks or her character? She wanted both.

I promised to write down my mother’s story for her. Now, I will keep that promise.

Childhood and schooling

My mother was born in 1906 in Tehran, Iran. She was the fifth child, the youngest of four. They named her Talat. When she was just a few months old, her mother passed away, leaving her with a nanny.

My grandfather remarried within a year. His new wife was much younger and from the Ghajar dynasty. Together, they had five more children: three girls and two boys.

My mother never felt a mother’s love. She once told me that, as a child, whenever she saw a dog nursing her puppies, she would sigh and say, “O God, am I less than a dog? At least she has a mother, and I do not.”

Raised without a mother and with many siblings, her childhood was not filled with love and happiness. She started school and at just nine years old, one day after class, a suitor family visited my grandfather’s house. They were there for one of his daughters, but they spotted my mother instead. Despite having three older sisters, they fell in love with her.

My mother was beautiful—green eyes, pretty brown hair, and a fair complexion. She often recalled that day when my father’s family came to visit. She was still in her school uniform, ink stains all over her, yet they chose her from the rest. When they asked for her hand, her family accepted. My father was only eighteen, and my mother was just nine. They became engaged.

My father’s family was wealthy and respected. They were in finance, owning a bank. My maternal family held positions in government, some with diplomatic roles. My oldest uncle represented the Iranian government in Washington,D.C. in 1923, appointed by the minister of Foreign Affairs. He held various ministries in Iran.

Marriage and Children

After their engagement, during their courtship, my father would visit. My mother remembered playing with her toys while her older sister entertained him. My aunts would respond to my father’s love poems and letters to her. He illustrated his letters beautifully. One of my nieces still keeps one of those nostalgic letters.

Their courtship lasted three years. They married when my mother was just twelve, and my father was twenty-one. She moved into her husband’s house, still a child herself. When my aunt, who married at the same time, became pregnant, my mother felt a pang of sadness for not having a baby of her own. Finally, after two years, she became pregnant and had her first child at fourteen.

In eight years, she had four children: two boys and two girls. All were healthy, except for her second child, a girl born with a club foot. This brought sadness to my mother and the whole family. After my oldest sister’s birth, my parents sought a surgeon to correct her deformity. The surgeon agreed. But this was 1922, and surgery was not as advanced. My paternal grandparents intervened, swaying my parents from the operation. My grandfather, the banker, assured them, “If you worry about her future, I’ll use my wealth to support her.” They did not foresee their impending bankruptcy. Unfortunately, my sister never married, though she was beautiful and educated.

After those four births, my mother fell ill and became anemic. This condition lingered for years, slowing their ability to have more children. When her health improved, they welcomed another boy, named Mohsen. He was eight years younger than his nearest sibling. Mohsen was wild and bold. He worried my mother with his daring ways. She often prayed that if she had another child, it would be a girl.

Ten years later, she became pregnant again, and I was born. I am the youngest. My mother was delighted that her prayers were answered. Unlike Mohsen, I was calm, dutiful, and obedient.

Bankruptcy and Hardship

My grandparents fell into bankruptcy. Bad choices and carelessness took everything. They lost it all to the creditors. They even asked my mother for her jewelry and valuables. The family suffered. Yet my mother stood strong. She held us together until my father studied law. He found work as a judge in the Iranian Ministry of Justice. They moved to Isfahan, a city rich in history and beauty, once the heart of Iran during the Safavid Dynasty. I was fortunate to be born there.

My Parents' Physical Appearances

My mother married young, at twelve. She had not reached her full height and was shorter than my father. But she grew taller, at least a foot above him. Often, she said if she had known, she would not have married him. My father was small and thin, while my mother had a strong build, always a bit heavier.

She was beautiful, with brown hair and a light complexion. My father was much darker. Physically, they did not match. But love bound them. They lived happily, and I believe they shared no other loves. My father passed at sixty-nine. My mother lived seventeen more years, leaving us in 1980 at seventy-four.

Their Behaviors and Characters

In character, they were opposites. My father was calm, quiet, good-natured, kind, and submissive. My mother was loud, decisive, short-tempered, a straight talker, and fiercely protective of her family. She ruled the house. She was the boss. Her love for her children was unwavering. She would sacrifice anything for their well-being. Her children loved and respected her deeply.

Last Decade of Her Life

She managed a large family. All but one of her six children had married and begun their own lives. She had seventeen grandchildren. She cherished having them close. Every Thursday, we gathered at her house for lunch. She prepared delicious meals with joy.

After the Iranian Revolution in 1977, I decided to move to the United States with my two children. She agreed to come with us, despite her failing health. She longed to see her two sons living in America.

Upon arrival, her condition worsened, and she needed to be hospitalized. She spent two weeks in the hospital. Her doctor told us the only English word she said was "Home." She wanted to return home to die. Gathering her strength, she succeeded.

At Tehran Airport, my husband, a doctor, picked her up and took her to his hospital. She stayed there just one week before passing away in 1980.

Despite all the hardships she faced, she was an incredible, brave, and resilient woman. I hope this account satisfies my granddaughter’s curiosity about her life

Marsha
Nov. 12, 2024