Am I Evil? Perhaps

My parents have been visiting us over two trips; a few days at a time. The first trip provided some interesting moments and revelations, including the very real possibility that I'm a slightly wicked child after all.

M started running around the same time that I would trot over to the park by our house. By the time I joined TNT last year, he had joined the Tri(athlon) Club and was occasionally participating in local runs and bike rides. He has often said that he started running because I started, which flatters me to no end. Today, he runs and bikes much more regularly than I have since last October.

When he came home a couple of weeks ago (the first time my parents were here) he was still in his running clothes, sweaty and flushed from his 6 mile run. My parents started oohing and ahhing over how much more fit he looked and how impressive that it was that he was becoming so active. My dad couldn't stop admiring his will power and committment. My mom kept whispering to me how much better he looked. I kept smiling, because I know my parents and knew exactly what would be coming after all this admiration. I almost had a little countdown going.

To their credit, they both held out much longer than I thought they would. On the afternoon of their second day here (less than 24 hours), they asked if I ever went running with M. "No, he's asked me, but I don't like being left behind so I don't go at all." Now, this may have been a good time to say, "No, I ran with my Team In Training group until October, when I went to semi-retirement because of my injuries." But that would have opened a whole new can of worms, explaining the fact that I hid a half marathon and one of my proudest accomplishments for so long. So I let it be. Later than night, my dad started another conversation with M, asking if he would go to Phoenix and train my brother to run. (My brother who played rugby for a few years until he injured his knee, etc. who still managed to train until he could barely stand).

"You should also take GWCH with you."

Looking at me, "Of course, running may be too much for you right now" (slowly evaluating my figure with a little sadness) "Maybe you can walk around the block a little bit, then work your way up to walking to the park..." (the park is about 3/4 of a mile from our place) "You just need to get started and maybe one day you can run, too. With a better diet, you can probably lose some weight while you're at it!" He said this with the optimism of a man who hasn't given up on his child yet, a man who is still waiting for a miracle that will provide him with stories to take home of his daughter getting up and finding her legs.

M slowly said, "I started running because of GWCH. I didn't used to run, even when my co-workers kept encouraging me to. She inspired me." (Again, big brownie points to a man who can defend and compliment me at the same time).

"Well, that was back when she was in college. I don't know if she actually ran then, probably just walked to the library and said she was running."

M opened his mouth to say he was referring to my training and the half marathon that I ran last year. I stopped him with a calm look and a smile stolen from the Cheshire cat. My running was officially my secret. You see, in the past, this conversation would reduce me to tears. I would be angry that my parents didn't think I was acceptable in some way; or the fact that they would talk about my fixing/improving myself as if I wasn't even there. I would probably even be a little angry at M for accidentally providing an opportunity for them to criticize me. But this time things were different. I am officially too old to care that I don't fit into the image of how great I could be. I have come a tiny step closer to accepting myself, flaws, pounds and all. I also have a secret that I kind of enjoy keeping. There is no need to defend myself, now that I know what I can do. I can just sit back and nod in agreement when they say it would be good if I could be motivated enough to wake up early and walk around the block. I may be a little evil to get such (perverse) joy withholding information like this from my parents, but I can't help it.

Are You Willing to Participate in a Survey?

Yesterday afternoon, I was doing the same thing I do most Sunday afternoons--procrastinating doing anything of meaning as quietly as possible since M was napping. Of course, the laws of the Universe dictate that the phone will ring only when someone lays down to take a nap. On this particular occasion, I jumped over part of the couch, almost broke my wrist and tried to find the phone before the second ring. It rang a second time by the time I got to it.

In my rush to shut it off, I didn't look to see who was actually calling us. Big mistake.

"Allo?"

"Yes, good afternoon ma'am. My name is Old Man Blah, and I'm calling from the University of California, Berkeley to conduct a survey of Iranian-Americans. Would you like to participate?"

By this time I was in the closet of our spare bedroom--which is as isolated and private as you can get in our tiny home.

"I'm sorry, who is this? And how did you get my phone number?"

Call me paranoid, but having lived in places where governments have no problems with violating personal rights, I kind of freak out when someone calls me specifically to ask my opinion based on my nationality/ethnicity.

"My name is Old Man Blah, and I'm calling from the University of California, Berkeley to conduct a survey of Iranian-Americans and their opinions. I will provide you with the name and phone number of the professor sponsoring the survey at the end of my questions. My first question is, Do you think the United States is headed in the right direction?"

And much like waving a giant red flag in front of a pissed off bull, without thinking I blurted, "No this country is not headed in the right direction!" I then realized that the man hadn't responded to my question about obtaining my phone number.

"Why do you not think the country is moving in the right direction?"

Again, I opened my mouth and responded, because I am not the kind of person who can contain myself or my opinions. "Well the so called foreign policy would be a good place to start. Wait, you never told me how you got my phone number. I'm sorry, I don't feel comfortable participating in a survey that has specifically identified me by my ethnic background."

You may wonder why I would worry about a survey conducted by someone at UC Berkeley, perhaps one of the country's most liberal universities. It's because while some people hear Berkeley and think of hippies, I hear Berkeley and think John Yoo. Yes, the same John Yoo who helped explain why torture isn't really torture and why it is acceptable for the President to use the afore mentioned non-torture when he deems it necessary. I'm not saying he's developing some kind of project to round up Iranian Americans before the US attacks Iran, I'm just saying it was weird to be called up on a lazy Sunday afternoon specifically because I am Iranian American.

Oh, and then things got a little strange.

Old Man Blah started yelling at me! "I said, this survey is being conducted for a professor at Berkeley. I will give you the professors name and contact information when you answer all of my questions. There is nothing suspicious about this!"

See, when a stranger calls your house, knows your ethnicity and wants to ask you questions--yelling that there is nothing strange going on, it kind of makes you think something strange may be going on.

"Could I at least have the name of the professor before I respond to the rest of your questions?"

"YOU CAN HAVE THE PROFESSORS NAME AND PHONE NUMBER WHEN WE'RE DONE!"

I thought a few seconds before I responded, "I'm very sorry for wasting your time, but I don't feel comfortable talking to you right now. Thank you for your time."

I hung up and sat in the closet, with what must have been an expression of complete confusion. That is how M found me a couple of minutes later. I told him what had happened and he was so confused. "Why didn't you just hang up on him?"

Leave it to the scientist to over simplify complex socio-political issues.