Love Story

My two grandfathers were close friends. Setrak, my father's father, was a chef. My mother's father, Harout, was a photographer. They were quite different in personality and disposition, but they were friends nonetheless. When later, they each married and had kids, the two families spent time together, became close with one another, went on vacations together and visited each others' homes.

It was during this time my parents first met. 

Sometime later a scandal created a schism between the families. Rumors were spread, innuendos about impropriety that soon became outright accusations; specifically Setrak was having an affair with Harout's wife Theresa. Though the allegations were denied, and Harout continued to trust Setrak, the damage was done and no one was better off for it.

The story was well known by the Armenian residents of Beirut and the fallout resulted in my father’s parents getting divorced, the first of its kind within the community and taking years to become officially  recognized. My mother’s family was shunned and ignored, attempting to lay low and wait out the rumor mill.

Time pressed onward and the children had grown into teens. 

My father, Libo, out with a group of friends saw Liza, my mother. Liza, no longer the annoying girl he was forced to spend time with, was now a beautiful young woman. Libo was immediately smitten. A plan was formulated; befriend her older brother Berj in an effort to get closer to her. 

The plan worked. 

My mother was charmed. Libo was handsome but known to have a temper. Yet with her he was caring, protective and affectionate, and she in turn was attracted, as many women are, to his bad boy ways.

Once as the two walked down the street, an older man pinched my mother's butt as they walked by. She let out a small sound of distress, trying to stifle the surprise so as not to anger my father. They continued to walk, the moment had passed, and to her relief no actions were taken.

Upon arriving at my mother’s apartment, my father excused himself, stating he would return shortly. When shortly passed, she went to look for him only to find him beating the man who had pinched her, doing so in front of the police station without care. When my mother asked the police why they were not stopping him, they replied they had been looking for the pervert and he was getting what he deserved.

When Libo proposed, of course my mother said yes. They were in love, and so blinded to each other's faults that the future must have seemed bright.

Harout, ever protective of his daughter, warned her that he would not be a good husband, but did not intervene. 

When it came time for the engagement party, Harout, Theresa, and Setrak were there to celebrate the union, Marie, Setrak's ex-wife and mother of Libo declined to come in protest of the union.

This story should have ended here, the schism repaired, a young couple's love healing the wounds of the past, and a bright happy future awaiting all; but some things simply do not work out with such ease.

Libo's impatience allowed him to be manipulated, and thus was easily convinced by my mother’s aunt Rosa that Harout was impeding the marriage. Thus, in Armenian tradition, Libo kidnapped Liza with intent to elope. On the road Liza called home only to learn that Theresa, at the tail end of a difficult pregnancy, was in the hospital.

Theresa died giving birth. 

Harout, blaming Libo for the distressed labor, called off the wedding.  Within a year or so, Harout succumbed to a brain tumor. My mother and her brother, now orphaned, would be responsible for taking care of their younger sister and the newborn parentless child. 

My father had his own issues to deal with. Having joined a militia, he had run afoul of a group now looking to kill him. Having been caught once, nearly beaten to death, and almost executed before escaping that fate through a negotiated release, it was clear there would be no escape this time around if caught. 

Setrak handed Libo a boat ticket to Brazil and bid his son farewell.

For the first few years Libo wrote home with some frequency. He wrote to his mother, father, siblings and Liza. But as time wore on communications lessened then stopped. Somewhere around his third or fourth year away, my mother received a final letter breaking things off, and thus she began to move on with her life.

Libo disappeared. He had been abroad for nearly thirteen years with no news of his whereabouts or actions. A teen when he left Beirut, he was now a thirty year old man standing in front of my mother, having arrived back in Lebanon for the first time in over a decade.

Over the period of a month the two were reacquainted. During this same period of time my mother was preparing to move to Los Angeles. She made no commitments to Libo, their time in her mind over. Armed with that knowledge, Libo again disappeared, this time failing to say goodbye.

What Liza did not know was that Libo had left for Los Angeles first, had gotten to know the city and established himself, so that when she arrived he would find her and win her heart once again.

The two again began dating, falling back in love with ease. And my father proposed again, and she accepted again.

Setrak, in celebration of their nuptials, prepared a feast, including the slaughter of a goat, which he performed in the bathtub. Marie, once vehemently opposed to the union, was happy that her son was alive and now only nominally opposed the marriage.

After a year of marriage, my older brother Rev was born. Harout had long since passed away, and now, as Setrak held Rev in his arms he began to cry.

“This child is Harout’s grandson,” he said "He's our grandson."