Mom Character Analysis

“You can’t keep trying to control him,” Mom said. “You have to let him make his own decisions.”

“You know how he gets treated,” Dad said. “You really want that for him?”

“No. But how is making him ashamed of everything going to fix it?”

“I don’t want him to be ashamed,” Dad said. “But he’s got enough going on with his depression, he doesn’t need to be bullied all the time too. He wouldn’t be such a target if he fit in more. If he could just, you know, act a little more normal.”

In theory, taarof means putting others before yourself. In practice, it means when someone comes to your house, you have to offer them food; but since your guest is supposed to taarof, they have to refuse; and then you, the host, must taarof back, insisting that it’s really no trouble at all, and that they absolutely must eat; and so on, until one party gets too bewildered and finally gives in.

I never got the hang of taarofing. It’s not an American Social Cue.

I could sense the disappointment radiating off him.

I never expected Ardeshir Bahrami to have so much in common with his son-in-law.

“What are you depressed for?” he shook the pill bottle. “You have to think positive, baba. Medicine is for old people. Like me.”

“It’s just the way I am,” I squeaked.

I would never be good enough for Ardeshir Bahrami.

“You just have to try harder, Darioush-jan. Those will not fix anything.” He glanced at the table. “Did you have enough to eat?”

And even though I hated getting shuffled around and grabbed by my love handles, my rubbery constipated face did relax into a smile.

I had never been surrounded by my family before. Not really.

When Dayi Jamsheed started herding us together into a big group photo, my eyes started burning. I couldn’t help it.

I loved them.

“It was hard for me, you know? Moving to America. When I left here, I was sure I was going to come back. But I didn’t. I fell in love with your dad and stayed, even though I never really felt at home. When you were born I wanted you to grow up American. So you would feel like you belonged.”

I understood that. I really did.

School was hard enough, being a Fractional Persian. I’m not sure I would have survived being Even More Persian.

Sohrab glanced at me and turned back to Laleh. “Laleh,” he said. “It’s not polite to do that. Darioush can’t understand you.”

I blinked.

No one had ever made people speak in English around me before.

Not even Mom.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“No,” Sohrab said. “It’s not polite.”

“Sorry, Darius,” Laleh said.

“It’s fine.”

I looked at Sohrab. He squinted at me with his spoon in his mouth.

“Thanks.”

“It made me into a zombie. That’s why I couldn’t tell you stories. I could barely tell the time of day.”

I didn’t know.

“I lost myself for a long time, Darius. I didn’t like who I became on those pills, but they saved my life. They kept me here. For you. And your mom. And by the time I was doing better and Dr. Howell tapered me off, your sister was born and I just...things were different. She was a baby, and she needed me. And I didn’t know if you even wanted stories anymore. If you were ever going to forgive me.”

“Dad...”

“Suicide isn’t the only way you can lose someone to depression.”

[...]

“And it kills me that I gave it to you, Darius. It kills me.”

There were tears in his eyes.

Actual human tears.

I had never seen my father cry before.

“You can’t keep trying to control him,” Mom said. “You have to let him make his own decisions.”

“You know how he gets treated,” Dad said. “You really want that for him?”

“No. But how is making him ashamed of everything going to fix it?”

“I don’t want him to be ashamed,” Dad said. “But he’s got enough going on with his depression, he doesn’t need to be bullied all the time too. He wouldn’t be such a target if he fit in more. If he could just, you know, act a little more normal.”

In theory, taarof means putting others before yourself. In practice, it means when someone comes to your house, you have to offer them food; but since your guest is supposed to taarof, they have to refuse; and then you, the host, must taarof back, insisting that it’s really no trouble at all, and that they absolutely must eat; and so on, until one party gets too bewildered and finally gives in.

I never got the hang of taarofing. It’s not an American Social Cue.

I could sense the disappointment radiating off him.

I never expected Ardeshir Bahrami to have so much in common with his son-in-law.

“What are you depressed for?” he shook the pill bottle. “You have to think positive, baba. Medicine is for old people. Like me.”

“It’s just the way I am,” I squeaked.

I would never be good enough for Ardeshir Bahrami.

“You just have to try harder, Darioush-jan. Those will not fix anything.” He glanced at the table. “Did you have enough to eat?”

And even though I hated getting shuffled around and grabbed by my love handles, my rubbery constipated face did relax into a smile.

I had never been surrounded by my family before. Not really.

When Dayi Jamsheed started herding us together into a big group photo, my eyes started burning. I couldn’t help it.

I loved them.

“It was hard for me, you know? Moving to America. When I left here, I was sure I was going to come back. But I didn’t. I fell in love with your dad and stayed, even though I never really felt at home. When you were born I wanted you to grow up American. So you would feel like you belonged.”

I understood that. I really did.

School was hard enough, being a Fractional Persian. I’m not sure I would have survived being Even More Persian.

Sohrab glanced at me and turned back to Laleh. “Laleh,” he said. “It’s not polite to do that. Darioush can’t understand you.”

I blinked.

No one had ever made people speak in English around me before.

Not even Mom.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“No,” Sohrab said. “It’s not polite.”

“Sorry, Darius,” Laleh said.

“It’s fine.”

I looked at Sohrab. He squinted at me with his spoon in his mouth.

“Thanks.”

“It made me into a zombie. That’s why I couldn’t tell you stories. I could barely tell the time of day.”

I didn’t know.

“I lost myself for a long time, Darius. I didn’t like who I became on those pills, but they saved my life. They kept me here. For you. And your mom. And by the time I was doing better and Dr. Howell tapered me off, your sister was born and I just...things were different. She was a baby, and she needed me. And I didn’t know if you even wanted stories anymore. If you were ever going to forgive me.”

“Dad...”

“Suicide isn’t the only way you can lose someone to depression.”

[...]

“And it kills me that I gave it to you, Darius. It kills me.”

There were tears in his eyes.

Actual human tears.

I had never seen my father cry before.