Firoozeh Dumas, The "F Word"

Firoozeh Dumas moved from Abadan, lran, to Whittier, California, with her familywhen she was seven years old. In her autobiography, Funny in Farsi: A Memoir ofCrowing Up lranian in America (zooz), Dumas writes about negotiating the tran-si t ion f rom one cul ture to another and about respect ing t radi t ional values whi lebecoming part of a new and modern society. The following essay, excerpted fromFunny in Farsi, is about Dumas's challenge of taking on a new identity while pre-serving her or ig inal sense of sel f . l t is a fami l iar story, wi th a twist . Many peoplehave chi ldhood memories of being teased about their names. However, a per-son whose name is not fami l iar-meaning "not American"-goes throughaddi t ional struggles as others use, don' t use, or adapt his or her name.

${ [aapping Your Reading

As you read, pay at tent ion to how Dumas useshumor to connect wi th her readers whi le shemakes an argument about the value of d iversi ty.Would you change your name to accommodateothers) Or have you changed your name? Why ishaving an unusual name in America, as Dumaswri tes, "a pain in the spice cabinet")

y cousin's name, Farbod, means "Greatness." When he moved to America,all the kids called him "Farthead." My brother Farshid ("He Who En-

lightens") became "Fartshit." The name of my friend Neggar means .,Beloved,,'although it can be more accurately translated as "she s/hose Name AlmostIncites Riots." Her brother Arash ("Giver") initially couldn't understand whyevery time he'd say his name, people would laugh and ask him if it itched.

, AIl of us immigrants knew that moving to America would be fraught withchallenges, but none of us thought that our names would be such an obstacle.How could our parents have ever imagined that someday we would end up in acountry where monosyllabic names reign supreme, a land where .,William,, isshortened to "Bill," where "Susan" becomes "Sue," and ,,Richard, somehowevolves into "Diclc'l America is a great country but nobody without a mask and acape has a z in his name. And have Americans ever realized the great scope of the

For another reading on language, see Anzaldria, page 77.-Eos

DUMAS/The "F Word" 85

Firoozeh Dumas,

guthrral sounds they're missingl okay, so ithas to do with linguistic roots, but I

to believe this would be a richer country if all Americans could do a little tongue

aerobics and learn to pronounce "kh," a sound more commonly associated in this

culture with phlegm , or "gh," the sound usually made by actors in.the final mo-

ments of a choking ,."n"]It't like adding a few new spices to the kitchen pantry'

Move over, cinnamon and nutmeg, make way for cardamom and sumac'

Exotic analogies aside, having a foreign name in this land of foes and Marys

is a pain in the spice cabinet. when I was twelve, I decided to simplify my life by

adding an American middle name. This decision sewes as proof that sometimes

simplifying one's life in the short run only complicates it in the lon-g run.

My nalme, Firoozeh, chosen by *y mother, means "Turcluoise" in Farsi' In

America, it means "Unpronounceable" or "I'm Not Going to Talk to You Because

I Cannot Possibly Learn Your Name and I lust Don t v/ant to Have to Ask You

Again and Again Because Youll Think I'm Dumb or You Might Get Upset or

SJmething." "My

father, incidentally, had wanted to name me Sara' I do wish he

had won that argument.To strengthln my decision to add an American name, I had just finished

fifth grade irr"Wttittl"i where all the kids incessantly called me "Ferocious'" That

,rr*ir"r, my family moved to Newport Beach, where I looked forward to starting

a new life. I wanted to be a kid with a name that didn t draw so much attention,

a name that didn t come with a built-in inquisition as to when and why I had

moved to America and how was it that I spoke English without an accent and

was I planning on going back and what did I think of Americal

tvly last name didn,t help any. I can,t mention my maiden name, because:'.Dad, I,m writing a memoir.,,..Greatl ]ust don,t mention our name.,,

Suffice it to say that, with "ig't

t"ft;rr, incrud.ing a z, and.four sylrables, mvrast name is as difficult and foreign as my first. M;i;;;;d last name togethergenerally served the same purposl "s

a rr€h br.k;;ii. il;to this rule. In Berkeley, ,'"d o'ly in nertiey, _t"";;.#ffiffi;:TroJi:

i#"#dlT"",T.:::r*::ilr,r;i#?#n*.:,trr,i..;;*;;;;?T""f,,i;ffi:probabrv"""r'"p'ra"ffi ;'nidn':ff1d"ffiilt:fi5:

\vhen I announced to my family that I wanted to add an American name,:|"?i:rlii #'ff [::#:i'['|fl Never one to l;, ;;;,, or go o d j udgm entHad r had " ,p".i"i ar'nity r.,

""".ff#Sf,"J,t':n"y.?1ff;:g:Ti,":Ji;prostitution' I wourd've gone with that one. My mom ,rgg"r,"d ,,Farah,,,a nameeasier than "Firoozeh" yet stiil Iranian.

""r,ri "r""-g-il?e sense, except thatFarrah Fawcen was at the height of h", poprl arity and,1iia.r,, *"rr, to be associ-ated with somebody whose plster t urrg in *"rr p;r;p;;;ent boy,s bedroom.We couldn,t think of any American ,r"1", fr"gi""i"g;,lrh ;; ," we moved on to-f the first letter of our rast name. r a""', r."o*i"r.y *E hr-t; ourserves to namesbeginning with my initials, but it made ,"r,r" "i;;;";"1, perhaps by thel0gic empl0yedmoments before 0"4 jumping. I n""'y.rr"r" the name .,juiie,,

ffi'J,13';XJ:mplicity. My brotheri Farid indFa,ril,'rh";sht that adding anrh at s am e ;ilJ#liHH;:;ff i'.ft:ihTn::***i"ff; ff ;a^friendly girl my age named Julie. She

":fg -" my name and after a momentot hesitation, I introduced myself as Julie. "What

" ."i;;;;;1,, she said. I didn,tmention that I had been /ulie for onlyhalf an horrr.

-----**..'.

Thus I started sixth grade wrthmi new easy name and life became infinitelysimpler' peopre actuanyiem"-rr"."l-y name, which was an entirely refresh_rng new sensation. All was well until the lranian nevotution,*when I found my-self with a new set of probrems. B;.;" I spoke English withour an accent andwas known as fulie, people "rrrr-.Jt-*s Americai. This meant that I was of,ten prir'y to their real feelings about those ,.damn r ,"yrri*r.;i

't was rike havingthose X-ray Stass^1i,l1lt";y

:;;""ple undressed, except that what r was seelllg

*"r. far ugiier than people,, ,rrrd"'rvr""r. It dawned on rrif ##ft*fli:rjg?"4;:,,""i,"i?"totheirr,o,,.r,"J,ii"iTlJH:;::;

when I went-to college, I eventually-went back to using my real name.All was welr unt' t graduaiJ il;r;rr"d rooking for a job. Even though I hadgraduated with honors from uc-s"rk"ley, I-couldn,t get a singre interview. Iwas guilty of being a humanities -"10a

but I began to suspect that there wasmore to my problems. Afier thr"" -onth,

of reject-ions, r addea ,,fu.ie,,to my 16-sum6' cali it coincidence, but the i"r, "rr"r,

,rir,"a.i*rffi. l"rt "ps

it,s the

: r.i ii iri T,i.i y

---

same kind of coincidence that keeps African Americans from getting cabs in

New York.Once I got married, my name became fulie Dumas. I went from having an

identifiably "ethnid' name to having ancestors who wore clogs. My family and

non-American friends continued calling me Firoozeh, while my

coworkers and American friends called me fulie. My life be- I felt like thosecame one big knot, especially when friends who knew me as

rrrlie met friends who knew me as riroor"r,."i'i"'tt;il"'il; characters in

characters in soap operas who have an evil *i". ift" *"'- "f

soap operas who

.orrrr", ."n,r"u"ib"ln the same room, since they're played by haVe an evil tWin.

the same person, a struggling actress who wears a wig to play The two can

one of the twins and dreams of moving on to bigger and better never be in theroles. I couldn't blame my mess on a screenwriter; it was my same room.own doing'

I decided to untangle the knot once and for all by going

back to my real name. By then, I was a stay-at-home mom, so I really didn't care

whether people remembered my name or gave me job interviews. Besides, most

of the people I dealt with were in diapers and were in no position to judge. I was

also living in Silicon Valley, an area filled with people named Rajeev, Avishai, and

Insook.Every once in a while, though, somebody comes up with a new permutation

and I am once again reminded that I am an immigrant with a foreign name. Irecently went to have blood drawn for a physical exam. The waiting room forblood work at our local medical clinic is in the basement of the building, and nomatter how early one arrives for an appointment, forty coughing, wheezing peoplehave gotten there first. Apart from reading GoIf Digest and Popular Mechanics,there isn t much to do except guess the number of contagious diseases repre-sented in the windowless room, Every ten minutes, a name is called and every-one looks to see which cough matches that name. As I waited patiently, the re-ceptionist called out, "Fritzy, Fritzyl" Everyone looked around, but no one stoodup. Usually, if I'm waiting to be called by someone who doesn't know me, I willrespond to just about any name starting with an F. Having been called Froozy,Frizzy, Fiorucci, and Frooz and just plain "Uhhhh . . . ," I am highly accommo-dating. I did not, however, respond ro "FriIzy" because there is, as far as I know,no t in my name. The receptionist tried again, "FriIzy, FtiIzy DumbAss." As Istood up to this most linguistically original version of my name, I could feel alleyes upon me. The room was momentarily silent as all of these sick people satunited in a moment of gratitude for their own names.

Despite a few exceptions, I have found that Americans are now far morewilling to learn new names, just as they're far more willing to try new ethnicfoods. Of course, some people just don't like to learn. One mom at my children'sschool adamantly refused to learn my "impossible" name and instead settled oncalling me "F Word." She was recently transferred to New York where, from whatI've heard, she might meet an immigrant or tvvo and, who knows, she just mighthave to make some room in her spice cabinet.

DUMAS/The "F Word" 87