This Article Needs No Title

Over the years, I have volunteered to serve, one, two, three, four Armenian organizations. The fourth on the list expired slowly after twenty years. Each has been an experiment of my fortitude, and a stretch on my resolve to prove - mainly to our own history - that there's actually a design as to how Armenians survive in far off land - at one time in India, sometimes in Poland, in the Middle East lately, and in America for more than 100 years. I wanted to be part of the American-Armenian experiment. And as if it was not hard enough being Armenian, I wanted the next generation to be able to read the poems of Misak Mezarentz in their original text. Go figure!

So I reviewed books, delivered speeches, wrote newspaper articles, staged rallies, analyzed the William Saroyan model of an Armenian in America, raised funds, and even organized festivals to celebrate Armenian culture and heritage. And I can tell you that it was really hard dealing with Armenians especially when, as I found out working with them, apologies tend to be misunderstood as weakness, the word "please" as desperation, and praise as a mark of inferiority for the person giving it.

While some see the person delivering a speech on stage as entitlement I, on the other hand, understood the amount of work that had to go into it, unless the speech opened with, "As I was driving here, I was thinking about what I wanted to say tonight." While some see the person occupying a seat on the front row at a public event as grabbed honor, those who have worked to organize the event are simply thankful for a seat to crash into for a couple of hours, after a year's work.

So, what's my impression of the many years past? Well, it was fun because I got to celebrate the contributions of Armenians to the world, and commemorate the story of our life on earth. I had earned a license - to hold nothing back about what I thought was necessary to draw the parameters of our identity, and to touch an entire generation with the clever beauty of our language, art and music - and I did not waste it. I met creative people, and worked with hundreds of volunteers, those who believed in the mission coasted with me, and it was one hell of a ride. Some are friends for life.

I fought my battles, and I lost good many of them. The few that I won were good enough for people around me who mattered most - visionaries, friends and family.

I apologized to too many, too often, because I was wrong often, but I have no more apologies left to dispense. I sought no apologies from others, because it was next to impossible to make them understand that they too were wrong sometimes. I did not seek fame and power and that got me crossed with other's ambitions bigger than mine, and capabilities a measure shorter. Beware of bloated ambitions, and limited capabilities. But what the heck, together we all made up pieces of a mosaic gathered around institutions, organizations and committees, scrambling for ideas for the difficult task of forging a new existence plucked from bits of our memorikon of Beyroot, Bolis, Tehraan, Haleb or wherever.

So, do I have any advice? Not really! But I'd like to recite one anyway, because I want to hear myself saying it: First, make sure that you be well and feel good. But most importantly, choose to serve the idea of the organization, and not individuals. Be warned that it may sometimes get nasty, especially when called outside the boardroom to settle a dispute. Ha-ha, try to convince the next generation of volunteers to withstand that!

Will I miss it? No! Do I want to repeat the same? No! So, what next? Ummm.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I kept a journal with daily entries for all these years. I will write a book, or I can pay someone to go over my notes and write the book with me, while I conduct business and pile a heap of money. Then I can donate big to my favorite organization sometime before I publish my book, and include in it a picture of myself making a speech on stage, and another one seated on the first row at a public event. Little would the reader know, that all I got was a cup of bad coffee during all those meetings.

Soorj? Soorj? Coffee anyone?