People ask me what it was like to be a girl and grow up with a Persian father. My dad was an immigrant from Iran, nearly 60 years ago, back before Iran was considered part of the axis of evil. Telling the whole story would be a book, perhaps even a trilogy, but here is a snippet.
My dad loved all things American and became an American citizen a few weeks before I was born. He also kept a part of the Persian culture – holidays, food, and his views about women. Although very progressive, my dad had some views on women that were not as American as the rest of his beliefs.
When people think of how women are treated in the Persian culture (now modern-day Iran), they are often thinking of fundamentalist Muslims. First of all, let me state that not all Persians are Muslims. There are a fair number of Jews and Christians, plus the last vestige of Zoroastrians. My dad was a Catholic, although he was more spiritual than religious. His mom had been a Muslim and his dad was Zoroastrian but his French nanny was Catholic and he was drawn to the rituals of the Catholic church. When he came to the U.S. he went to catechism and was baptized in his new found faith.
As a child, a girl belonged to her father and as an adult, to her husband. The “belonging to” was like a prized possession, to be treated with care and respect. Yes, she is a possession, that part is not so Western, but the way it is done is with passion and love. Imagine the care and respect that many men give their cars, say a Porsche, making sure it is polished and running well. That is only 1% of the care and respect that a woman is to be treated with.
Mothers, childbirth, and the menstrual cycle were considered the height of perfection. My dad was in awe of women and what they are designed to do. He felt that men were designed for other things such working plus appreciating and caring for women.
He loved it when a woman wore lots of make-up but he appreciated the natural look, too. Perfume, a requirement. My dad loved to buy designer dresses and scarves and fancy shoes. Shopping with my dad was more fun than shopping with any of my girlfriends.
My dad also expected me to be strong. He wanted me to stand up for myself, never allowing anyone to treat me poorly. He believed I could do any job that a man could do, but that I shouldn’t have to unless I wanted to. I should be adored and cared for first. Work was secondary. When he saw how hard it was to be a one-income family, he was flexible enough to understand.
My dad saw me as perfect. A woman who could bear a child, work, look beautiful, make a house a home, and handle everything that life offered – the good and the bad. I was always his little girl but he also appreciated the fact that I became a woman. He did not try to keep me as a child. I am grateful that I belonged to him and glad to belong to my husband who also treats me with love and respect. Belonging to someone is a good thing.