My Passport Says I'm 'Home'.

Follow the link below for an essay I've written, "No Time for Goodbyes' for Denizen Magazine Online. I know that many of you follow my stories of living in Iran in the late 70s as an expatriate 'business brat'. I was going to 'copy and paste' the article here (bad boy), but professional courteous demands that I steer you to their website. If you're interested in the 'third culture kid' phenomenon, Denizen is a great resource. @ Denizen Online Magazine
When I came back to the States in 1978 I was confused, lonely and generally pissed-off at the world. I'd been cheated and there wasn't a single person who understood me. In other words, I was a typical teenager… with some extra baggage.
All of my friends were scattered to the winds by the Islamic Revolution, and life in small town Kansas was more alien to me than anything I experienced in Iran or Saudi Arabia. I acted out, smoked a lot of pot, and wished I was anywhere else than Mulvane Frickin' Kansas. As soon as I graduated from high school, I bought a run-down Toyoto and left.
In college a psychologist diagnosed me with a 'General Anxiety Disorder' couple with feelings of 'unresolved anger'. Edgy and angry after losing everything and coming 'home' from a revolution? OK, I'll buy that.
Looking back now, my behavior was quite common for a 'third culture kid', even for those who return to their home culture without all the drama of my situation. And I don't mean to slag on the psychologist who labeled me with a GAD. The label wasn't important to him, and he provided a situation where we could discuss my rage and frustrations, which was all I needed. A place to vent and a sympathetic ear.
As miserable as I was at times, I wouldn't trade a second of that misery for anything. I know that sounds cliche but it's absolutely true. There's no teacher like experience.
As to the photograph above… this is the 1978 Student Television and Radio group from Tehran American School (the STARs). Our school had all the luxuries of money, which allowed us to have an in-school broadcast facility. Heaven for 70s teens as we blasted the compound with Led Zeppelin, Queen, Boston, Foghat, Bowie, the Stones and all our favorite Gods of Thunder. On the back row center is a young gentleman wearing dark sunglasses. To his right is a boy with a Joker grin on his face and a moptop of hair – that would be me. These were the good times, about six months before it all fell apart. I look at this picture now and smile. 'Good times, bad times, you know I've had my share…"
Aloha y'all,
From the Big Rock, Hawai'i
Anthony
SONS OF THE GREAT SATAN http://bit.ly/hsmp0x