کلاس اول دبیرستان که بودیم یک روز سر کلاس تعلیمات اجتماعی بودیم و ۵ شنبه زنگ آخر بود و هیچ کس حوصله درس نداشت. همینطور که آقای ملک نژاد درس میداد بچه ها زیر لب میگفتند اوووو و یواش یواش صدایشون را بالاتر می بردند و تا آقای ملک نژاد بر میگشت پای تخته چیزی بنویسد تقریبا همه دیگه فریاد میزدند اوووو که البته باعث میشد آقای ملک نژاد بر گردد و همه ساکت بشوند و دوباره سیکل از اول شروع بشه. چند باری این کار تکرار شد تا اینکه آخر آقای ملک نژاد در اومد گفت من نمیدونم امروز شماها چتون شده، تا من میام دو کلام حرف بزنم همه شروع می کنید با هم زوزه کشیدن
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...

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