I Am Like You!
by
Ali Kian
Copyright 2011 Ali Kian,
All rights reserved.
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0091-4
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Introduction:
I wrote this book to share the feelings and experiences I’ve had from living with polio. What makes my experience somewhat unique is that I never felt that I was a physically disabled person. I acquired the disease from the polio vaccine itself. While the circumstances that led to my condition were tragic, I refuse to allow myself to be defined by my disease. My hope is that by sharing some of my personal experiences I can affect others in a positive way.
I suspect there are those in the world who might look at me and feel I have reasons to shake my fist to the heavens and curse my fate. I choose not to do that. None of us needs to be defined by our physical or mental condition. Every human experience has its share of good and bad. I hope by sharing my experiences, others might find reason for hope in spite of whatever difficult circumstances they might be living with.
As you read what I have to offer please feel free to laugh at every opportunity. I do. I’ve chosen to live my life with hope and joy. Recently I heard Terrence Howard (a wonderful African/American actor) talking about the difficulties he’s faced in his life. I’d like to borrow and paraphrase what he said: “I’ve had rocks thrown at me in my life. I have two choices. I can either throw the rocks back or collect them and build a castle. I’ve chosen to build a castle.” Enjoy my story and the “castle” I’ve built.
WARNING!
Some content of this book may not be appropriated for some younger readers under age of 17. Parental guidance may be needed! Thank you.
In the Beginning:
My father grew up, poor and hungry, in the village of Asekan, Iran. He had six brothers and three sisters. Tehran, the capital of Iran, was 135 miles from Asekan. The trip to Tehran was arduous. The first 35 miles of the journey could only be undertaken by walking or traveling via mule, on a dirt road. The final 100 miles of the trip required catching a bus that ran on an unpredictable schedule. If the bus were missed the only option left was to hope some kind stranger might offer a ride in whatever broken down car or truck was available.
It was a difficult time for the people of Iran, particularly for those of my father’s generation. The Shah of Iran ruled the country. He and his family lived on the millions of dollars received for the peoples’ oil. While the Royal Family lived extravagant lives and dined on caviar taken from the Caspian Sea the people of my father’s village struggled to put food on their tables.
My dad was only 14 years old when he secured his first job, serving as a housekeeper for the wealthy families of Tehran. In order to save money on food (and often out of necessity), father would resort to eating leftover bread and rice from the homes of the privileged. With the meager salary my father received, he would return to his village and purchase rice, flour, and sugar for his family. In the winter, what was left of the money after buying food was used to acquire petroleum for heating and lighting. Eventually father began working as a janitor cleaning the inside of Tehran bus stations.
My dad in his army uniform as a solider at age 18
The people of Asekan would oftentimes supplement their meager food supply with wild berries, sour apples, or the walnuts they would gather from three giant walnut trees that stood near the village. My father took it upon himself to gather cuttings (young branches) from the apple and cherry trees of Tehran and return with them to his village, carrying the stems on his back. And always the last 35 miles of his journey was traveled by walking or mule. Once home, father would distribute the plant stems to the villagers. Over time, trees began to sprout on the small farms near the village, providing more food for the people. What began as an offering to help families in need became an ongoing passion that my father continued for the rest of his life.
My father’s name was Ali Omran Kian. At the age of 24, Ali Omran was introduced to Farkhondeh, a beautiful young woman from the nearby village of Gateh Deh. Gateh Deh (which translated means “big village”) was approximately a two-hour walk from Asekan. The “big village” was populated by more than 500 families; however, the roads surrounding Gateh Deh were every bit as primitive as the pathways of Asekan.
As was the custom of the time, my father was introduced to my mother as a candidate for marriage. In the Muslim society of my father’s time, there was little or no courtship. So, at the age of 15, Farkhondeh met and married 24 year old Ali Omran. By Western standards, my parent’s marriage would be considered unorthodox, but it was a union that grew into a relationship of genuine love and affection.
Compared to Asekan and Gateh Deh the village of Jostan (translated to English means “Land of Walnut Trees”) would be considered modern. Collectively, these villages totaling about ninety villages make the providence of Taleghan. Most people in Taleghan were self-educated prior to any roads connected to any cities or schools by reading Koran from one generation to another until roads connected them to more advanced schools and now they are some of the most educated people in Iran. The roads of Jostan were paved and its citizens relished looking down upon, and taking advantage of, their neighbors from my mother and father’s villages. Whenever someone from Asekan or Gateh Deh arrived in Jostan, they were often forced to wait for hours in order to catch some form of transportation to Tehran or perhaps the nearest health clinic. As the people from the smaller villages waited in bus stations or teahouses, they were subjected to insults and humiliation. It was also a common practice for the proprietors of Jostan establishments to overcharge the “primitive” villagers. For seven years, my father endured the humiliating trips through Jostan on his way to work in Tehran, but he vowed to improve the lot of his family.
The first step on Ali Omron’s journey to a better life involved moving with Farkhondeh to Tehran. At the time of their move to the city, my father still worked for the regional transit service. With few friends and no family in Tehran, it was a lonely existence for my mother and father. Ali Omron’s pay consisted of a percentage of the coins he received as bus fare. As a means of staving off boredom and loneliness, Farkhondeh occupied herself by counting the coins my father received from each day’s work. She remained up late into the night, diligently stacking coins as she waited for her husband to return home.
Then I Was Born:
A year after my parents moved to Tehran I was born. In many Middle Eastern cultures, if your first-born child is a boy, it is considered a blessing from God. I was a playful, healthy child adored and fawned over by everyone in my immediate family. My father’s father (Grandpa) grew especially attached to me and I adored him. I was willing to do anything to please Grandpa. At three, being playfully asked by Grandpa if he could have a piece of half-chewed candy I had in my mouth. With no hesitation whatsoever, I removed the candy from my mouth and offered it to Grandpa. Grandpa
