The year 1985 is significant in the life of my father, Antoun Fallah. The Lebanese Civil War had wrecked havoc in the country from 1975 through 1990. For ten years, my father watched the Maronite Christians of Lebanon suffer in the hands of an influx of Palestinian Muslims, mainly Sunnis. Although Maronite Christians were predominant in the country and its politics, the Islamic forces began to fight relentlessly for the upper hand. My father, an Orthodox Christian, was fortunate to be among those who escaped and arrived to the United States in 1985. He, alongside his parents and two younger brothers, found shelter in their grandfather’s home in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. The grandfather had been living in America since 1974. All three teenage boys attended Fort Hamilton Public High School, worked various jobs, and struggled to master the English language.
The Newly Weds (Yolla and Anton Fallah)
In 1994, my father was ready to find a wife. As a Lebanese man, he wanted a traditional Lebanese wife, so the search would be futile in America. He went to Lebanon and was immediately suggested to meet a family friend’s daughter in a village twenty minutes away. There was no such thing as “dating” so the only way to meet her was to stop by the house for a cup of coffee. He had visited the distant village twice to no avail. Every time he went, he faced a belligerent father and only saw the elder sister, whom had been already engaged. Feeling rather hopeless the third time, he quickly arose from his seat to leave, only to find a beautiful young woman enter the home. Within a week, my father and mother were married as he had to return to the States. Her father did not approve and my mother didn’t know her new husband very well, but she says that he was “handsome” and a pharmacist, which is “better than the window-panel guy” she refused to marry.
Adjusting to life in America was certainly not an easy task. Two aspects that stood out to me were the change of names and the necessity of working multiple jobs. My father had changed his name to be spelt ANTON as people would never pronounce it right and made assumptions about his background. The second son, Toufic, always introduced himself as “Tommy” and the youngest son, Abraham (pronounced Brahim in Arabic), was called “Abe” among friends. One’s name is such a huge part of their identity. The fact that all three brothers became uncomfortable living under the name they had known all their lives shows the impact of societal stress to assimilate into American culture.
The Brothers Upon Arrival (Abraham, Anton, and Toufic Fallah from left to right)
Secondly, multiple incomes were needed to survive. In my father’s situation specifically, he had been employed in jobs ranging from wiping tables at White Castle to assisting in a pharmaceutical office of a hospital and owning his own pharmacy. While working two jobs at once with the income of his father and siblings, it was still hard to make ends meet with debt from college and utility expenses. I was fortunate enough to be born and raised while my father had a stable job. He opened Best Care Pharmacy on 3rd Avenue in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn in 2002. My mother had to fight with her father to even allow her to attend college. She was sent to a trade school where she studied accounting, but she remained a housewife in America. All three brothers lived with their families in one house in Bay Ridge until the 2000s as the families grew too large to stay and savings accumulated. I never had to work to help my family maintain financial stability as my father had and never had been discouraged from pursuing my career goals as my mother had been.
Although I have not experienced the same hardships as my parents assimilating into American society, I am aware of my bicultural identity. When people I meet in New York ask me where I am from, pertaining to ethnicity, I respond with “Lebanon” without hesitation. Lebanon seems to be an enigma in the Middle East and I pride myself in its beauty and reknowned capital of Beirut. However, I am immediately picked out as the “American” when visiting Lebanon by the way I dress, act, think, and speak Arabic. Realizing that I may not be a perfect fit in either culture, I learned that I can be simultaneously Lebanese and American.
In general, my Lebanese values of family, food, hospitality, manners, and strictness have been an ongoing influence on my American life. My parents always want to meet or know about the families of my friends. If aspects of the family are deemed negative, such as divorced parents or a problematic child, it was always best that our friendship drift. Sunday was always a day exclusively for family. Keeping a close-knit relationship with each member of immediate family and the most distant relatives was very important. A home-cooked traditional Lebanese meal was prepared everyday. This includes appetizers, salads, side dishes, and the main entrée. It could never be just a pot of pasta, and fast food was out of the question. My younger sisters become overwhelmingly excited when we take them to McDonald’s since they rarely eat there. If people come over, snacks or food must be offered and take-out must be paid for. If you are inviting people for dinner, it is important that you prepare the entire event yourself because potluck-style looks lazy on the host. When visiting others, a gift should be bought and a greeting of three kisses on the cheeks is expected.
Strictness was applied to two areas– religious practice and social interaction. We had to pray every time we entered the car and went to church every Sunday. We attend Mass at the Maronite Church of Our Lady of Lebanon on Remsen Street in Downtown Brooklyn, even though we are Greek Orthodox. This particular church has become a place for many Lebanese people to assemble, socialize, and pray. In the social aspect, I was never allowed to have sleepovers like the other kids around me and had an earlier curfew. My mother once caught me talking about my menstrual cycle with my friends and she scolded me about it being very private and shameful to speak of. I was expected not to kiss any boys, let alone date them. As my parents experience the aging of an American child with my older sister and I, they have become more lenient and westernized. However, one recent incident reminds me of how their Lebanese mindset will not disappear.
An argument that occurred in my family started over some ear piercings. My younger sister had gotten her second ear piercing. My older sister had also wanted to get her second ear piercing, but, without telling them, she had gotten a few extra ones. With 5 earnings on one ear and three on the other, she had only managed to get away with it for about 3 hours before my mother noticed. What ensued was the silent treatment and glares from across the room. Suddenly, I was her favorite child since I only had the usual one piercing on each ear. Then, my father came home and there was a lot of lecturing about how, somehow, the earnings will lead to drinking, tattoos, drugs, and endless reckless behavior, while my sister argued it was simply self expression. This is just a classic example of having a teenage daughter to most, but it was almost the end of the world for my parents who would have never seen this behavior in Lebanon. In this particular situation, I agree with my sister that the earrings are essentially harmless; however, our Lebanese upbringing still has an influence on the way we think and handle different situations.
