"Funny in Farsi" by Firoozeh Dumas

I, too, had been sad at Farid's departure, but my sorrow soon faded--not coincidentally, with the receipt of a package from him.

My father, Kazem, an engineer with the National Iranian Oil Company, had been assigned to consult for an American firm for about two years.

Having spent several years in Texas and California as a graduate student, my father often spoke about America with the eloquence and wonder normally reserved for a first love.

To him, America was a place where anyone, no matter how humble his background, could become an important person.

To facilitate my adjustment, the principal arranged for us to meet my new teacher, Mrs. Sandberg, a few days before I started school.

My father carefully explained that I had attended a prestigious kindergarten where all the children were taught English.

Eager to impress Mrs. Sandberg, he asked me to demonstrate my knowledge of the English language.

Until my first day at Leffingwell Elementary School, I had never thought of my mother as an embarrassment, but the sight of all the kids in the school staring at us before the bell rang was enough to make me pretend I didn't know her.

The bell finally rang and Mrs. Sandberg came and escorted us to class.

Fortunately, she had figured out that we were precisely the kind of people who would need help finding the right classroom.

In her era, a girl's sole purpose in life was to find a husband.

Having an education ranked far below more desirable attributes such as the ability to serve tea or prepare baklava.

Her father, a fairly progressive man, had even refused the two earlier suitors who had come for her so that his daughter could pursue her dream.

My mother planned to obtain her diploma, then go to Tabriz to learn midwifery from a teacher whom my grandfather knew.

Having spent a year in America as a Fulbright scholar, he had returned with a photo of a woman he found attractive and asked his older sister, Sedigeh, to find someone who resembled her.

Clearly, Mrs. Sandberg had planned on incorporating us into the day's lesson.

After a few awkward attempts by my mother to find Iran on the map, Mrs. Sandberg finally understood that it wasn't my mother's lack of English that was causing a problem, but rather her lack of world geography.

Leffingwell Elementary was just a few blocks from our house and my father, grossly underestimating our ability to get lost, had assumed that my mother and I would be able to find our way home.

As we stood pondering our predicament, an enthusiastic young girl came leaping out of her house and said something.

After making one last futile attempt at communication, they waved good-bye.