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Email a copy of 'How Seranoush Became Lovenia' to a friend
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This is a very interesting article, Serpouhie – Betty. You address a subject that is always with us. Many of us have two first names. Our Armenian name is often that of a murdered ancestor, or the village our people still longed for. Some of us are named after the rivers they fled across, or the mountain roads where the bodies of their starved children still lie. Or we are given names that literally express their joy in a new life coming after the horrendous loss of so many. In addition to this, we are given names that are familiar in the culture of the countries our people escaped to. It is interesting that Seranoush acquired a translated name from a nurse. My diaspora name was given to me by my kindergarten teacher who found Perouz to be a difficult tongue twister. She gave me what sounded like a reasonable translation to her. When I told my parents that teacher had changed my name, my father and grandfather wept. Teachers were held in high esteem by our parents, and their decisions were not easily disregarded. I had been named in memory of my murdered grandmother. After a great deal of discussion and despair, it was decided that I should use the name teacher had given me when I was with “odars” in this new world, and Perouz when with Armenians. I have used these two names interchangeably throughout my life. As I switch from name to name, who I am, my very essence, also changes in small, unnoticed, but important ways. This is a violation of my basic right to self-definition and determination. It is a life-long consequence of the Armenian Genocide. Our parents agreed to this changing of names in order to save us from the hatred and consequences of being “the other,” that they had suffered. They wanted their children to have the peace and stability of acceptance in their new lands. And they knew not to argue with those they considered to be in authority. And so, Seranoush is also Lovenia, and Serpouhie is also Betty. It is important to remember that “a rose by any other name, is still a rose.”
My mother’s immigrant parents were strictly informed by the maternity nurses that the name Zvart would never work in America, so my mother became Gladys; her sister Gayane became Kie-anna to Americans, all in a time when everyone wanted to be an American, which meant, quite unnaturally, a WASP or maybe Irish.
On a related note – there isn’t much to like in Kim Kardashian, but her very Armenian features have become a standard of pride to us and beauty to all, something far different than the standards our parents lived under, in which Grace Kelly’s features were the American standard [although, it is true, Italy reminded us daily of Mediteranean beauties such as Sophia Loren, Gina Lolabrigida, and Claudia Cardinale].
My grandmother Seranoush was re-named by the Fresnans as Sarah. The Araxies became Roxy, and the Arshalouys Archie. I alkways wondered as a kid why there were so many Archies.
jda: I know a Zvart who became Violet. Very sadly, her beautiful Armenian name was never used in her lifetime. It finally went on her grave marker. I know Armenians whose Anglicised names are now even on their passports. I acknowledge that using my real name on my passport holds me up slightly at borders, but it’s a small price to pay. My name is my identity. It’s who I am. It connects me to the grandmother whose body was thrown into a ditch. It tells her murderer that her descendants are here, and what was done to her is not forgotten.
Serpouhie: Is there any way to get a few of those Armenian tomato seeds to jda? I remember she also wanted them. I now have heritage Turkish eggplant growing for the first time. They are not purple and cylindrical. They are tennis ball size, round, orange with green stripes. absolutely beautiful. These plants withstand cold, so I am betting they original grew on the eastern mountains as well as in the fertile valleys. I’ll save seeds this fall and let you know how I make out with them. They are supposed to be great for dolma. Has anyone else ever heard of them, or remember their mothers speaking about them?
Perouz, your comments are always inspiring and interesting, If jda would like I will send her a few tomato seeds. Tell her to get my home address from you.
I am proud to bear my paternal grandmother’s name. She perished in Tzerman, Keghi during the genocide but lives forever within me.
Thank you, but I am a him. Why did you think otherwise?
jda: gardening, like most activities, has no gender. when your best jeans are covered in compost and sweat is running down your backside, and a bee has just tried to lick it off and stung you, who notices, let alone cares? Just grab a hoe and help get the the weeding done. I really want to find out about these Turkish eggplants. Know anything about them?
Thank you, Srouphie Betty Apigian Kessel, for profiling the classiest and most humble lady from our parish.