In the summer of 1980. Irene, Victor, Luane and myself flipped through the phone book to make prank calls. We spotted someone named Harold and Luane dialed his number. A woman answered and Luane asked to speak to Harold. When she asked Luane who she was she replied he was his girlfriend. Apparently this was Harold's wife because we could hear commotion and arguments on the other end of the line. We waited for Luane to give us the signal that Harold had picked up and when she did the four of us screamed "We love you Harold!"
"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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