he lost his idealism on the 14th street bridge… Now i know where my father lost his idealism. First this morning the question occurred to me -was my father ever an idealist? Then i remembered that day in, 1981/2, i think, when we lived in Woodbridge. He came home more angry than i had ever seen him, and watched the tv all night long as he fumed and shouted about how the Coast Guard had prevented his D.C. Army National Guard medivac unit from bringing a column of uh1-d choppers in and picking all of the passengers out of the water. He actually began to cry when the man who had been passing the hoist to other passengers flipped over in his seat and drowned. He yelled that that man didn’t have to die, and he cried. Crying was forbidden in my family. What had happened was that ice on the wings of a passenger airliner taking off from National Airport brought it down -on the 14th street bridge. Many passengers survived the crash and ended up waiting to be rescued in the Potomac river. As i recall, there were only two rescue choppers on the scene to get them out of the water, which actually had ice in it that year. Ä°n any case, i think it was after that that Dad stopped being a functional alchoholic and lost his job and then things got worse from there. But people have always said that Dad can only see the good in people. Maybe one day or at some time he was an idealist? He always told me you can’t save the world, and he has always been so cynical. People have always told me that i am very gullible, idealistic. Don’t become bitter like your father. But why did he become the way he is? Was that incident the final staw, last in a long series of events that taught him that you can’t fight the system? That the world owes him, as he told me once a few years ago. Why? What makes any person the way he is? How can i avoid becoming like him? My greatest fear is that i already am…
i do not drink, but from what demons am i running, and why do they always find me?
those i slay simply rise up from their graves to find me again, and they always do.
i have tired from the fight, and long for protection, company, comfort and shelter,
but the peace i seek has long since fled from my eyes, and i wander, seeking a parent.
a friend told me to be strong, because if you are not strong, no one will help you.
She was born and raised here in istanbul, an Armenian i met years ago dancing with Greek