About An Old Dear Friend
I received a very unexpected telephone call from a very dear friend from the distant past today. To say that I was very pleased would be an understatement. We don’t meet or keep in touch too often, yet when we do, I always felt as if a stormy day suddenly filled with sunshine. That’s how I felt this morning when she called.
We had met in the summer of 1964. Although it was not called ‘the marriage tour,’ it was exactly what it was. My parents had three daughters, and I was the eldest. It was decided that Mama and I should take a trip, first to Israel, then to London, New York, and Montreal to find an eligible husband for me. It wasn’t as if I had not been to all these places before. I had. However, this time it was not for pleasure.
In each city I was displayed. At times, I felt as if I was a prized commodity. The question was sometimes asked discreetly, but most often crudely, rudely, and brazenly. The question asked was how much money I was bringing into the marriage! That offended me a great deal. However, I was a young Middle Eastern lady, and as such, was unable to express my outrage. It was not acceptable!
Before asking for my hand in marriage, one mother and her son truly offended me. They lived in Tehran and had plenty of money, but no class whatsoever! Unfortunately, they thought their money would cover up their boorish manners and lack of breeding. I immediately refused to even consider marrying him. At that time, my parents were away. They had taken a long, leisurely trip to India that spring. The mother approached my paternal uncle. He, in turn, consulted with my mother’s cousin and dearest friend. They both thought it was a fine idea. They drilled me on how to behave, how to dress, what to eat, what to drink. I was beginning to feel upset, but nevertheless, I promised to do what they asked.
My family had chosen to meet them at a very elegant restaurant. The atmosphere was hushed and classy. To be quite honest, my curiosity was a bit piqued. I imagined a suave, well-dressed gentleman with impeccable manners. Instead, in walked a battle-axed widow with grim features, followed by her son. His clothes were rumpled; he hadn’t even bothered to shave, and he wore an even grimmer look on his face than his mother. He squinted through thick glasses. Later, I compared him to a nearsighted owl. My heart fell. There was NO WAY I was going to go out with, never mind even consider marrying, that man!
We sat down and made polite small talk. We ordered. I did not order a shrimp cocktail, nor did I order wine. I did not do anything that would offend anyone’s sensitivities. When the food arrived, we started eating. He proffered some of his salad. I politely declined. With anger in his voice, he raised the salad and slammed it in front of me.