Sirman A. Celâyir, "Diary of an Immigrant Family"
(3 Volumes, 675 pages, July 4, 1997)

Volume 3
Love & Impurities
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1. Love and Impurities 507

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1. Love and Impurities

Smoking is bad for You. Smoking was a glamorous indulgence in Turkey in the 1950s, as elsewhere, when we were growing up. I tried to reconcile what I heard on American TV about smoking in the 1990s to my experiences with smoking. Uncle Bahri chain-smoked very strong unfiltered Turkish cigarettes all his life. During the last two years of his life, he coughed. But he was 82 then. Father, who is 83 now (1997), also smoked all his life. He does not cough. My sister Femsi and I have smoked since we were about 18. Now in our 50s, we do not cough, though I can be a heavy smoker when I am working on my computer (as I was when writing this book). When I am out of shape, I have breathing problems when I run or carry heavy loads, like nonsmokers who are also out of shape. Yet, at age 50 plus, I can still train myself to run a mile--why further?--or rope jump for an hour, though I continue to smoke.

As to the "addiction" assertion, Mother began smoking at age 37 in Samsun. When we were in Waynesburg, she smoked up to 4 packs a day. Then on June 21, 1981, she quit cold turkey and has not smoked since then, not one. The same is true of my ex-wife Judy who quit overnight from 2 packs a day, as did Femsi's husband Gary. My sister Gülhis may smoke a pack one day, quit for a month, light a few cigarettes next, etc.

Everything a person does habitually may be described as addiction. But these experiences obviously contradict "addiction" in the medical sense. So I am not convinced that smoking is addictive. Instead, I suspect that personality traits combined with circumstances are the primary determinants of who is likely to smoke, how much, and if this practice will continue. Easy-going people, very structured (robotic) people (e.g., athletes), hypochondriacs and health freaks, people who have other outlets may not feel the urge to smoke. For them not starting or quitting may be much easier.

The problem is that these people project themselves on other people, presuming that because they are this way, everyone else must be like them, that quitting is only a matter of willpower. This is wrong. Their presumption is grounded on the "I could do it, why not you?" simplicity that equates all people, as if everyone shares the same genes or circumstances. For example, smoking may have a calming effect on people with "susceptible" physiology," such as hyper individuals, people in pressure--or monotonous--jobs. It may help them to cope with their situations better. Smoking may aid some people to deal with real or perceived pressures which nonsmokers may not feel or feel less. A generally calm person who raises tomatoes for a hobby may not want to smoke. This does not lead to the conclusion that an undercover detective, air traffic controller, etc. should feel this way too. Indeed, airline accidents would probably increase significantly if the latter were forced to quit altogether. And some people probably enjoy smoking, whether or not this makes sense to others.

The rest of the world appreciates these "common sense" differences in people and their circumstances and accommodates this reality. Alas, it would seem that "individualistic" America cannot even grasp the scenario that there may be differences in people. My gripe is not with the assertion that "smoking is bad for you." It probably is. What turns me off is the presumption of policy zealots that "quitting" is a matter of uniform sacrifice--willpower!--for all, that, therefore, people who do not--or will not, or cannot--quit must be irrational, weak, or weird. Really!

Love. Between wives, girlfriends, affairs, dates, and escapades, I was on a roller coaster after my second divorce on Oct. 14, 1973. It dawned on me one day that I had never thought of love and romance objectively, though they were a major component of my life and seemingly everyone's life. Other people were not more aware. Apparently they thought some things should be experienced, not analyzed. Fair enough, but I decided to delve deeper into "love." I did not mean this exercise to lead to a comprehensive essay on the psychology of the subject, which would have demanded perhaps a lifetime, but I wanted to lay the groundwork.

First, I envisioned a framework for my thoughts. Clearly, this common, "obvious," yet elusive phenomenon deserved much more than a series of "objective" observations and conclusions. And I did not want to confine love to static boundaries of "once upon a time," as if I were summarizing my own or someone else's feelings after the fact. My thoughts had to relish also the subjective and dynamic nature of love. So I would not be averse to throwing in an anachronism or two from my past to underscore a conclusion or to push myself forward when I stumbled.

I began with the dictionary definition of love. "A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person / a sense of underlying oneness / a feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance / sexual passion / an intense emotional attachment / a person who is the object of deep or intense affection or attraction."

And romance was defined as: "a love affair / ardent emotional attachment or involvement between people, especially that characterized by a high level of purity and devotion; love."

So the scholars bundled all sorts of things to provide a snapshot of love and romance. These definitions were as useful as explaining divorce as "termination of marriage" to someone going through this process. I decided to begin my analysis from scratch.

If love was a deep attachment to something or someone, obviously feelings like love of God, country, mother, or mother's love for her child, love of animals, football, hamburgers, etc. were outside of my scope. Traditionally, "love" involved two people of the opposite sex, though there was no conflict if the two persons were of the same sex. (Actually the latter form of love also existed in very close friendships.) A person felt love, whatever this meant, while another became the focus of that love, aware or not of this person's affection. If both persons felt love about each other, romance was likely, if circumstances were conducive. So what was romance? A playground for love? Probably, but I thought I should initially confine myself to love alone.

"Love" implied a flow of psychic energy, like a principle, resolution, idea, religion, fanaticism, or talent all of which had a focus. However, romantic love differed from its cousins in that its focus was another person. Thus, it had a dynamic and whimsical target. This bundle of energy called love, seemingly present in some form inside everyone, struggled to come out. However, to come out, it had to find a focus. And if the energy did not find a focus in a timely fashion, sometimes it even invented a focus and burst open. "Timely fashion" was unique to the individual.

So already at the start, it seemed there was a "selfish," or at least "preprogrammed," component to love. But even if love was separate from selfishness, obviously these elements coexisted in the same person, along with many other native elements. Either way, the focus was incidental in that almost any target could satisfy the need if it emerged at the right time. This meant that, in practice, love could be also self-love, self-gratification, perhaps something like a need to love, to be in love. It could be even a psychic barter of sorts: giving in order to receive.

People had these conflicting ingredients in varying degrees and one could argue about their respective concentrations in different persons, but not the fact that romantic love was to some extent also self-love: it made a person feel good to be in love, hopefully with the right person. The "right person" for a woman could be the man who gave her the best orgasm but not much else; for a man, it could be the woman who pampered his ego the best.

Beyond these banal manifestations, love was often no more than a story of shared illusions, a pastime. It lasted as long as the illusions lasted, a long time for some. But even if a new love replaced the old, the latter did not cease, not with the end of romance, illusions, not even after the breakup. It persisted as memories, impressions, dents, a learning curve, perhaps even as a blueprint, and sometimes also as hate. Depending on what impact it left, the old love could meander through the later ones, sometimes also replenish itself.

In the case of talent, a cousin of love, some parents detected its existence early enough to help the talent in their children to come out and manifest itself. Once talent surfaced, it could continue by itself, but it did much better when capable hands fine-tuned its direction and guided its progress. In practice, talent required other resources to flourish. Obviously, family stability and finances were important considerations, so important that without them many gifted children grew up to become wasted talents. They lost, the society lost. Still, there was a chance for some people, whose talent had been ignored, to discover their talent later. Depending on the concentration of the talent, these people lived scattered lives until they were mature enough to hear the voice in them and respond to it. This way, they found their purpose and/or direction in life and became more focussed and stable, qualifying as "late bloomers." Obviously, only certain kinds of talent could benefit from this "second chance."

Unlike talent, love rarely found guidance. Even in the early passive state, when love was molding, then searching for a focus, genetic inputs, upbringing, the environment and circumstances introduced a myriad of impurities to it. The variety of the impurities was not as consequential as the concentration of the components. So love matured on its own in relative isolation, carving its own path, culling specific targets, deciding on ways of manifesting itself, and collecting perhaps more impurities along the way. And sometimes love floundered and vacillated, shifting its focus from this to that, just like the child that served as its host.

Then when this child became an adult, he or she entered a society that pragmatically held that "self-control" (i.e., control of impurities) only required willpower. The impurities could be rendered dormant, because most people thought they succeeded in controlling most of their own impurities. However, like the propensity to smoke, "control" depended also--a lot--on the individuality of the person. Yet, to complete the circle, "individuality" was made up also by the concentration of impurities in this person. So although most people seemingly could control their impurities, especially in public, others could control them less, some could not control them.

For example, some people heard the call of God at a young age and became priests, rising in that arena as high as the combination of luck, circumstances, and self-effort took them. If this was love in purest form, most people were not so fortunate, for their love did not have an immediate focus, or they had a scattered focus. Moreover, some people had to deal with innate or externally induced impurities already at a young age. Among the priests, there were some who became aware of another potent urge, the sexual urge, which was potentially a severe impurity for them. Those with this impurity tried to suppress it but a few did not succeed. Children were the easiest targets.

When the deeds of these priests surfaced later, the society judged them harshly by pragmatic standards. Their pragmatism failed to grasp the real forces at play. Obviously these men had not chosen to become priests so they could molest children. They probably loved God no less than purist priests, but the impurity in them had been strong enough to defeat their resolve. Certainly the crime was severe. However, when compared to some of the crimes committed by several Popes and many missionaries throughout the history of the church, these men still qualified as "not as bad."

I thought unless the society perceived and acknowledged the impurities, it could not really understand love, hate, crime, the individual, not even itself. This wisdom also applied to many parents who admonished their children with nonsensical comments like "at your age, I used to do/be such and such." For example, what if the ranks of priests and nuns included predominantly those people who had a low libido. (Obviously it would be highly unlikely for someone with Madonna's genes to choose religion as a vocation.) Like talent, intelligence etc., libido came in varying concentrations in different persons. If so, then their biology, not willpower per se, helped these people to be abstemious, to exercise self-control, to dedicate their entire being to God. Albeit, this is what the society expected of priests, all priests.

Indeed, the same standards did apply to priests with a higher libido but not naturally. Although the pragmatic society was not likely to practice double standards, to be "understanding," reality did not change. In the case of the priests with higher libido, it may have been already too late by the time their impurity surfaced. The scenario of "what happened?" probably followed a predictable course. When this priest decided first to dedicate his life to God, he was probably so young that sexual urge was not a major issue. Or the urge was so diluted that he thought he could control it. And he did control it, until the urge became acute. At a weak moment, when the opportunity presented itself, he became simultaneously a perpetrator and victim, also a sinner.

After the first incident, this priest probably contemplated in shock the enormity of what he had done, and not just the crime against the child. Vacillating between fear and self-recrimination, he knew that he had also failed in his main mission. Unlike most people, he had only one option: give up his position which in his case meant giving up his life, for he had wanted to become a priest since childhood and had responded only to this call. The priest foundered again and decided not to give up his life, like many parents, some teachers, an ex-president, some senators and congressmen, Jim Bakker, Mark Fuhrman, and other "sinners" in trusted positions. When his deeds finally surfaced, of course the society judged him harshly, condemning his entire service, though probably he had done also many good things.

The enormity of my conclusion froze me on my trek. A very natural urge, often a wonderful urge, though a severe impurity for this priest, had harmed children and destroyed this man's life. A single impurity, in a priest no less, could have these enormous consequences. Then I tried to imagine the impact (on the society) of the assortment of native impurities present in each person, interacting with the impurities in dozens of other people with whom this person crossed paths over his or her adult life.

The hypocrisy of the priest applied to some extent also to the society, though the society rarely judged itself as harshly as it did a deviant individual or a favorite culprit. For example, every four years, some Americans made "character" into an election issue, expecting their president to be also a moral leader. In their noble concern, the opponents, usually from the other party, threw out almost everything good about the candidate and concentrated on the impurities from his past. What were these impurities?

The worst impurity often came down to something as inconsequential as a candidate having an affair or two in his past. That is, candidates who ran for the highest office in their forties, or even later, were judged by their ability to anticipate their candidacy as early as age 18. Since innocuous human indiscretions could dispel their hopes later, they were expected to accumulate the credentials of a robot to qualify for the job. The allegation went a step further. The opponents correlated these indiscretions to a "weak" moral character, which made the candidate unfit for the position, because, they insisted, his judgment could not be trusted. Indeed, it seemed the real corruption was in the reasoning process that could make such an arbitrary correlation.

It is not difficult to extrapolate absurdity to higher levels. If the moralists had their way, one could imagine them "inquisitioning" the candidates with inquiries like if they made love to their wives more than once a month, for fun or with a baby in mind, used the missionary position during the act, etc., supposedly to weed out moral corruption. The moralists did not comprehend that their impurities included a very strong sense of self-righteousness. Or these morality sessions signaled something else about the American society: a periodic struggle to whitewash its own sins. It had to do so because this society suffered from some of the worst social statistics in the industrialized world. The vigilante-minded reformers sought culprits for these conditions. The blacks, immigrants, people on welfare, leaders of the opposing party, etc. were to blame, but rarely the society or the culture. Only the individual could have impurities, not the society, certainly not "them." Yet, many of the impurities on the individual level shadowed the impurities of the society at large and the conditions that bred them.

On the individual level, the impurities acquired exogenously (externally, like "bad upbringing") during childhood, combined with endogenous (genetic) elements, and this person's particular environment and circumstances, defined the personality of his or her emerging love. It was unique to each person, like fingerprints. But since love was such a potent force, it also defined to some extent the kernel of personality. Love was always fluid enough to change directions, make substitutions, grow, wither, and then grow again. Like a liquid, it favored a direction of flow (focus), not necessarily a permanent container. And sometimes love joined hands with a talent to manifest the combined personality positively. For example, a nature lover - probably a form of loving God - with aesthetic talent and dexterity for gadgets could mold his or her love and talent to a "nature photographer."

Each person struggled to satisfy the call of love he or she heard; its fulfillment became an overriding urge, because love could manifest itself like an addiction, a self-perpetuating urge. If successful, the person felt elated, if not, vacant. This was a common state for most people who "needed" someone to feel complete. Indeed, some people were downright hedonistic about love. They stressed the level of elation. If it started to diminish, a new focus became imminent. The passive ones among them demonstrated this by falling head over heels in love with a new partner at frequent intervals, whereas the dynamic ones felt the urge for frequent conquests.

Depending on the magnitude and nature of the impurities, the search for a focus could proceed as a wholesome effort to find a suitable mate, in the form of a Don Juan complex, as a rapist, or even a serial killer. And occasionally a dormant love could reach an explosive state and burst out on its own by inventing a focus. This type of love could give rise to a stalker who, for example, "loved" Madonna in a vacuum. Obviously the variety as to how love sought fulfillment had to be rich.

When judging odd expressions of love, people who were presumably bestowed with "healthy love" were often inclined to pass judgment. They presupposed some sort of superiority for being "normal." These people did not comprehend that they had lesser concentrations of impurities to control. Often this came about by luck and happenstance, not so much through conscious personal effort or willpower. For example, some people were born to enlightened and loving parents; they grew up in stable homes in enriching communities. Although a positive background did not always guarantee positive results, it was much easier for these people to stay on the right course. If a baby born in Watts became a pimp later, this was not news; if a child born to an upper-middle-class family ended this way, this would be news.

People often presumed they had superior willpower, thus inner strength, because they could resist the naughty urges they experienced periodically, or because they did not have these urges, or because they did not smoke, or quit, etc. Perhaps they deserved the accolade, or not. Ted Bundy, the serial killer of young women, was not a weak person. In his warped ways, he had more determination and guts than most people. And as a law student he was intelligent and savvy. Unfortunately, he was also a "screwed up" man who lost against enormous impurities. "Lucky for me that I do not have to deal with such demons" I thought when he was caught. I felt sorry for the victims and their families, but I did not feel superior to him, for I did not know if I could have done better, could have exercised willpower, if I had his demons. Instead of subjecting him to homilies, I just felt lucky.

In really lucky people, love evolved like a healthy child, with only minor impurities. When it was time, love in these people pursued a heathy focus, found it, and made a commitment. If they were really lucky, they found partners whose love was commensurate to theirs. They could not succeed otherwise, for the interaction between a healthy love and a soiled one probably favored polluted results eventually, like the proverbial bad apple in a barrel.

There were no guarantees even for two healthy loves. To succeed, both partners had to be able to give and receive love in a heathy fashion. Even in this rare situation, impurities could still hinder the flow of love. For example, some people maintained their commitment but wanted also to conduct sexual experiments, including mate swapping, because their love accentuated variety and sexual exhilaration. To overcome the monotony that came with time, they sacrificed sexual commitment to preserve overall commitment, at least for a time. That is, eventually love and relationships had to reckon with the super variable that overwhelmed all else: time. Time molded love continuously, enhancing it, or reducing it.

Attraction and Romance. Romance qualified as the "preface," perhaps the first chapter, of shared love. Without romance, love remained passive or it invented its own romance. Real romance added flesh to love and allowed love great lurches of action, increasing its intensity and duration. Could two people love each other simultaneously without having a romance? I could conceive several affirmative scenarios: partners who loved each other but who were separated by circumstances or choice, like in the military. And sometimes people fell in love with the mate of a friend, though one or both remained committed to their mates, perhaps like the affair between Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn. "Friendship" could be an enduring byproduct of such romance.

It was time to throw in other words usually associated with love and romance: attraction, attachment, addiction, possessiveness, jealousy, obsession, etc. What was attraction? By itself, it was something like infatuation, but both love and attraction gained potency when they combined. Did "love" require attraction? Probably in some form, if only to decide on a focus. Something had to agitate the senses to transform love from its dream-like state to a tangible target. However, attraction did not insist on love, though often it imagined love, perhaps to increase its own potency.

Attraction, physical and/or mental, was the catalyst, though power, wealth, and other ingredients could also substitute as aphrodisiacs. These ingredients gave love focus, identity, and subjectivity, but not yet reality, even in cases of mutual attraction. Until a spark brought the partners together and triggered their romance, highlighting the exhilaration associated with sharing and discovery, marking the cycle of the natural honeymoon, love and/or attraction remained passive, often in frustration.

Attraction could be even more whimsical than love. Often it just happened, or it invented itself, as I witnessed one Saturday in June 1992. Sharon and I came to Victoria's Secret in Georgetown and she tried on about a dozen panties and matching bras, asking my opinion about each pair. Other women, mostly Georgetown students, did the same, many private parts peeking at me from dressing cabins and mirrors, with doors strategically left ajar, eyes seeing my eyes, eyes avoiding my eyes. I was attracted to everyone; everyone was seemingly attracted to me.

Attachment stood as the promise at the end of the romantic journey, though its seeds were already in love and attraction. Romance served as the playground to love, now with an "attractive" focus. But it did not automatically bloom to attachment, the state in which both partners decided to commit themselves to, the partners envisioned, a mutually enriching bond. For romance also facilitated the process of osmosis by which the partners got to know each other. During this process each partner began to filter the other. Attachment followed only if both partners passed through the filters and decided to commit themselves to the quasi-marital phase of attachment. At this stage, the latter was only a promise of wonderful things to come, expectations, longing.

Indeed, the osmosis did much more. It brought out some of the impurities in each partner. During the romance phase, most people only felt rather than saw them, but now each partner had an inkling about the personality of the other. What the partners did with these subtle clues also depended on their personalities. For example, although some people recognized serious impurities in their partners at an early stage, they shoved their observations aside, because romance felt so good. Or they thought they could overwhelm the impurities with love and change their partners later, a common folly.

Be as it may, obviously romance was a very critical phase in a burgeoning relationship, for it added potency and passion, and it decided the next phase. Since romance enhanced with passion was a good thing to experience, partners were preconditioned to savor and prolong this phase. Knowing this, some people "conned" their partner, deliberately projecting a false image that promised continued invigoration but not much else. Unfortunately, since most people, even healthy partners with minor impurities, judged things by appearances, many fell for these "con games" and then suffered the consequences.

Attachment and Commitment. With attachment, selfishness and self-gratification also began to intrude on romance. Eventually, not yet, selfishness would become the salient judge of the relationship, deciding for each partner what and how much they were willing to give in order to receive, whether or not what they received was sufficient for what they were expected to give back. Often, the deliberations were not this cumbersome. When the novelty of romance wore out for one partner, he or she simply walked out, leaving the usually unprepared other partner holding the bag. The bag contained hurt feelings, disappointment, rejection and wounded pride, wrecked hopes, addiction and emptiness, anger, and often lots of warranted or unwarranted self-righteousness.

Thus, selfishness had to be the telltale filter between romance and attachment. Selfishness shied romance but did not shirk romance. That is, while selfishness conflicted with romance, sometimes it encouraged romance for self-gratification. If romance fizzled out for both partners, they could expediently move on. They could do this also later in the attachment phase when the impurities became more discernible. As long as both partners felt the same way, the experience between them qualified as "live and learn." This was the ideal solution for dissolving relationships.

Selfishness had a very good reason for intruding into attachment, for attachment also implied potential commitment, possibly forever in marriage. While love, romance, and attachment could lead to marriage, marriage did not enhance love, romance, or attachment directly, because it was essentially a contract that blended the couple into the society in a wholesome way. It resolved none of the impurities. Indeed, by confining the partners to close quarters, often it removed the buffer between the impurities. This is why some knowing people saw a "romance killer" in marriage. However, marriage helped indirectly, at least at the start, by injecting a sense of responsibility to each partner. That is, each partner reached a resolution to keep his or her impurities in check, for as long as possible. And each partner became more patient and understanding about each other's idiosyncracies. They would do their best to make this thing work.

Obviously commitment was a major decision. All senses, including instincts, reasoning, but also impurities participated. The day-to-day interaction and spontaneity led to more intensity and passion, for commitment also meant an all-out effort to make the investment work. If attachment bloomed, passion and intensity enhanced love; if not, passion and intensity combined with the impurities could eventually transform love to hate. Before love turned into hate, it suffered through addiction, possessiveness, jealousy, frustration, turbulence, abuse, hurt, etc. This is how people accumulated excess baggage, as bitterness, suspicion, anger, and more. Depending on the concentration of these elements, the person loaded with them was often unable to be trusting again, even with a deserving partner later. This is how excess baggage turned into hardness.

Everyone instinctively understood these aspects of commitment before committing themselves. So far, everything had been wonderful, the partners enjoying the joint momentum of romance. Now the outcome of the relationship would depend increasingly on the personality of each partner, less on the love and romance between them. This meant the impurities would play a decisive role. Attachment, even before it became full commitment, began to transform the relationship to a balance, an ongoing cost-benefit study. On the heavy side, it had love, memories of romance, intensity and passion, and lots of hope and expectations.

But now time would load the other side. As long as time and circumstances alone loaded the other side, they were seen as normal ups and downs of life. People generally were willing to endure them. Indeed, some of these challenges qualified as romance and brought the partners even closer. Real problems emerged when one or both partners started to load the other side, through adultery, possessiveness, undue jealousy, alcoholism, and an assortment of other clutter. This is when the other partner began to feel "taken for granted," indeed cheated.

Impurities and Breakup. How and why did relationships and marriages break up? After romance progressed to the attachment and commitment phase, each partner instinctively opened a ledger and started to record data for an ongoing cost benefit study. The ingredients that controlled the outcome were in the partners, in their strengths and weaknesses, views and values, the upbringing, background, etc. The good elements in them and between them would sustain the relationship during adversity; the impurities would test their bond continuously.

Although the partners felt oneness between them, they were two distinct people with unique personalities. They could blend, but only as much as their personalities volunteered and impurities allowed. So far, they had known each other primarily under utopian conditions of romance, as expectations, images, and projections, which showed their real identities under the most auspicious light. The romantic period over, now the partners would observe one another under routine existence and really get to know each other. They would see how each dealt also with monotony, boredom, chores, adversity, and crisis, the real tests of a relationship. A few attachments broke up already at this stage without much ado. Because the relationship had not lasted long enough to accumulate pollution, the partners separated with disappointment but no animosity. These were in the realm of healthy breakups.

The impurities sneaked in innocuously, gradually, reluctantly at first, almost as if they knew they could not win at this stage. But even seemingly inconsequential events could churn them to the surface at a moments notice. For example, soon it would be clear to both partners that one of them remained strong in crisis, the other buckled. If the strong partner was the man, this situation ratified the roles the society assigned to men and women. In reality, many men qualified as strong by their ability to flex muscles and shout louder, while their silent-strong partners observed them with amusement. So the social formula did not always apply. Mistaken identities were to be expected when "society" was defined primarily by men and their views and standards of men and women.

If the strong partner was the woman, then indeed problems could emerge. Because a "weak" man contradicted the formula, the role switch could cause self-recrimination, eroding his self-esteem over time. This could happen even if his partner did not make an issue of the role change and indeed loved him more for being "a sensitive man." If so, he was lucky for sharing his life with such a propitious woman. However, if his partner judged him a wimp, she could become condescending, nagging, bitchy, domineering, bored.

How this played out between them depended on the personalities of the partners. If she was the insurgent daughter of a marine drill sergeant who was brought up to believe that a man always had to behave like a MAN, she could proceed to openly assault his already wounded pride. This could lead to all sorts of scenarios, impotence, alcoholism, dejection among the possible consequences. Or his manhood could lash out rebelliously, substituting muscles for the perceived weakness. Once a relationship reached this stage, it would be too late for them to remember that the turmoil they were in had been triggered by something as archaic and artificial as "expected roles." And once the door opened, other impurities would have a shindig too. Counseling probably did not help in situations of acute personality and "perception" differences. It could only delay the inevitable end. Even if someone helped them to resolve their problem, once ugliness surfaced, the peace that followed always came with diminished love. This is how the cost benefit ledger accumulated costs. The irony was that although the benefits had not changed, the costs started to erode their value too, making them irrelevant eventually. This is how love eventually became stale.

More often than not, the end of the relationship also brought out the worst impurities in one or both partners, especially in polluted cases. Suppose one partner wanted to continue but the other partner decided to move on. In other words, there were inadequate inducements for one person, though not necessarily the "healthy" partner, while the other partner suffered from an addiction of sorts. Obviously this marked a one-sided attachment, a potential for turbulence, perhaps even danger. If the latter, this could be a more perilous time for a breakup than in the beginning, if the latter person's love had been shunned right from the start.

How the rejected party decided to respond to the rejection depended on the personality of his or her love, the impurities in it. For example, a Pablo Neruda could write a poem about unrequited love and deal with his situation constructively. This would be a healthy reaction that transformed the negative energy of rejection and hurt to a positive energy in the form of creativity. For most people, the easiest and most practical solution in such a situation was to initiate a new romance, often a fake romance. This too qualified as a pragmatic and generally constructive response to the negative energy.

Problems began if this option was not immediately available or the previous bond was still too strong for one partner. In this case, a person with low self-esteem could break down, seeking solace in soliloquy, alcohol, drugs, even suicide. But with concentrated impurities, the rejection could potentiate a cycle of intensity, passion, turbulence, ugliness, and perhaps even a danger. The cycle would probably begin with appealing massages and notes, perhaps even some flowers, in a "honey before vinegar" approach. If this did not do the trick, invective exchanges, vituperative telephone calls at all hours, etc., would follow. If still not successful, more severe forms of stalking, including threats, could mark the next phase.

The divorce was even worse than the breakup after romance or attachment, for it announced categorically the breakdown of the entire investment and commitment, not just a broken heart. On the other hand, there was a "redeeming" quality in divorce. By the time it became a reality, love was only a pallid memory. Now selfishness, self-interest, and cold animosity entered the scene, into the same arena where love and romance had partied once. That is, the relationship (marriage) had gone through time. Even the old impurities were irrelevant now. The impurities that surfaced at this stage finally showed the real personality, the essence, of each partner: often very ugly.

"What happened to all these lovesick couples who had started holding hands?" boiled down to a simple answer: they became veterans of the war of impurities, sometimes victims of karma too.

There were anomalies also in "healthy" relationships. The ideal relationship, now a marriage, was one in which the partners preserved the trust between them, in which both partners and their children flourished. Few marriages fared so well. It seemed that sometimes even inconsequential personality traits could also fill the debit side of the relationship ledger. Many of these traits did not qualify as impurities. Yet, explosive and even destructive endings could have their origins in common human characteristics like lack of confidence, insecurity, inferiority complex, selfishness, egocentrism. These "susceptible" traits did not always have tangible bases. Average people could project superior confidence, very attractive people could have fragile identities. Intelligent people sometimes appeared unsure, almost self-conscious, whereas people with average minds displayed an obnoxious know-it-all attitude.

Depending on their concentrations, these traits could be harbingers serious difficulties later. For example, insecure partners had a tendency to invent problems, to catapult minor imperfections to major offenses. This could happen through unfounded suspicions and jealousy, leading to abrupt mood swings, possessiveness, and whatever else this person's insecure mind imagined as appropriate, also "getting even." Of course, sometimes these feelings were justified. Indeed, if the partner was doing things, like dating on the side, to perpetrate these emotions, then it was best for this person to walk away with anger and disappointment now than with abuse, suffering, and a broken heart later.

It made sense that only TWO reasonably healthy partners with similar visions about their bond could form a healthy bond. This meant also the partners did not inject their own impurities into each other, did not intentionally agitate impurities in each other, or "play" with each other's feelings, love. A person who was cheated by his or her partner did not need to be insecure to get angry. He or she could judge the affair on principle, that the trust between them, perhaps the most precious element of love, romance, and attachment, had been capriciously broken. Whether the perpetrator deserved a second chance depended as much on his or her overall qualities as also the personality of the partner. Obviously this would be a difficult decision. And once made, either way, it would not be entirely right or entirely wrong, except in obviously destructive cases. Otherwise, the decision was not something that others could honestly judge.

My first wife Judy, a beautiful and intelligent woman, lacked confidence. She was shy, reserved, and without dynamism or effervescence. To her immense credit, there was also no bitchiness in her. Unfortunately, her wounded "Leo" pride became malicious after the divorce and infected our daughter. My second wife Gayle, also very attractive, seemed to have all that lacked in Judy, including the vivacious qualities of a hustler on occasion. Both were absolutely faithful. When unhappy or hurt, Judy escaped to an inner world and assumed a dreamy presence, whereas Gayle could be a nagging bitch. On the surface, Gayle appeared more intelligent and capable than Judy. But this was true in part by the same superficial "appearance" criterion that often propelled people with mediocre talents and visions as winners and leaders. Twenty years later, Judy's life fared better than Gayle's, though both of them were doing all right on their own. Both preferred to remain single, Gayle after a second marriage. I was able to rescue a friendship of sorts with both.

Janice and Sharon. The two really turbulent women entered my life after 1984: Janice and Sharon, both a treat, especially for a gourmet of movies like The Magnificent Obsession, Of Human Bondage, Room at the Top, etc. I had my chance to act in them. Janice was 14 years older than Sharon and entered my life first, in La Jolla, CA in July 1984. We barely lasted seven months, with a long separation in the middle. Both of us probably sensed that without this and other breaks there was always the remote possibility that one of us would do in the other, in the excitement of a turbulent exchange, usually over nothing or invented something. This was also true with Sharon.

Yet the closeness between us was nothing less than addiction. Janice was an occasional stage actress who became my student in a computer class. The only difference between the two was in that Janice had a "take charge" temperament, whereas Sharon was astute but meek, except when angry. Sharon pursued her rights and interests deviously; Janice fought for them on the spot, forcing situations, spitting bullets. Sharon and I started in Morgantown on Nov. 11, 1985.

My relationship with Sharon went through the full range, the bond emulating the graph of a major earthquake. Our romance ended in Morgantown in July 1986; the attachment phase began in Washington two months later. A month after that, we decided that we could not live together, though apparently we could also not live apart. So Sharon rented an apartment in the same complex. Commitment was never an option for us after Morgantown, probably because we sensed that we would have devoured each other without space. Our "healthy" attachment ended officially on Nov. 28, 1989. The period until Aug. 17, 1992 marked a cycle of extreme pollution, turbulence, and viciousness by Sharon trying to end a connection that did not want to end, in spite of us.

Yet, there were moments and days of unbelievable closeness, that conveyed why the relationship was having so much difficulty ending itself. There were occasions when I could have found myself in O.J. Simpson's seat, and probably gotten away under some sort of passion act, but for a resolution. I was not going let this "hillbilly" win by forcing me to defeat myself. Since I was doing programming six to ten hours a day, I was often able to discard her and to switch to my robotic mode. This aggravated Sharon more than anything, for she knew she could not touch me when I concentrated on programming.

Janice and Sharon were attractive, very feminine. The impurities surfaced gradually. The first of four curios idiosyncrasies I noticed about both of them was the fact that they were ritualistic in everything they did. For example, both of them took several minutes to meticulously fold and store their clothing immediately before a passionate scene. There was magnetic quality in this, not acted. They kept their bodies compulsively clean. I remembered that Gayle had done the same, almost as compulsively. It was not cleanliness only that kept them in the water. Perhaps they were also washing away the pollution inside. And it was indulgence, self-adoration, especially for Sharon. Janice was more practical: she only took three long showers every day.

Once our relationship got going, both became phobic about being alone. They were terrible loners, because they had been alone for long periods, especially Sharon. So they were adamant about being with me every possible moment. I thought this was wonderful. Judy, my first wife, had been this way too, until she became ponderous. Janice and Sharon had different personalities and I did not think "ponderous" would be the case with them. Both insisted on daily lectures on morality. I was instructed, in no uncertain terms, that I had to be absolutely faithful, not even glance at another woman.

Since there was no cause for such talk, I made a mental note of their unusual warning. Did they mean "don't cheat on us until we are ready to cheat on you first?" After all, I was in America where people liked to be winners. Although both were absolutely faithful, it was clear from the beginning this was not a situation of love forever. They were trying to take possession of me until they overcame their attraction and assumed the upper hand, which they thought I had over them. Then, they would pull the strings and I would become a member of a club of admirers, eventually past loves. This was fascinating stuff.

Janice and Sharon had other impurities in common. Both of them felt cheated that the world for the very rich and very beautiful had been denied to them. Sharon would have been even happier as royalty, just to be sure that no woman could claim superiority to her. Unfortunately, both were only middle-class, Sharon on the lower side. Both had been raised by domineering and self-involved mothers who played them like pets, especially Sharon's. Until late teenage years, both girls had grown up emotionally isolated, somewhat as family mavericks, though both had sisters who had played by the rules of the mother.

Since the image they nurtured of themselves differed from the reality, both had severe confidence problems, though their vanity helped them with some of the perceived deficiencies. Sharon was burdened also with insecurity, and an inferiority complex. Janice dealt with her situation head on, by assuming an artificially cheery persona to qualify among winners. Her training as a Shakespearean actress helped, but I knew better and she did not act with me. In contrast, Sharon spent huge sums on her fingernails, makeup, hair, and outfits. Selecting clothes for her meant spending an entire Saturday or Sunday at one or more stores. The women who worked there walked away frustrated, after they witnessed four hours of hesitation about one dress. Sharon needed hours just to choose a pair of panties and brae.

Indeed, Janice and Sharon looked better when plain. They had an earthy femininity that makeup could only spoil. But Sharon tried. Both could cry profusely on the spot and suffered from a fixity of mind that rejected any attempt to reason things, even to calm them. Sometimes there was no solace for Sharon's despair. On occasions when she was angry with the world for not having a sultry "killer" looks, I tried to jolt her from her misery with a genuine "you look ravishing." This shifted the focus of her anger on me. I usually listened with a trace of a smile on my face. However, sometimes she churned my temper and I added to her problems. Then I felt guilty, which increased my sympathy, which forgave her the many transgressions, which brought me deeper to her inner self, which introduced me to her demons, which played me like a fool.

My relationship with them began as potent attraction. Both wanted constant attention. Because I had a computer that could take my mind off them, even when they were not with me, both of them acted scenes about the computer, like the wife confronting the mistress. Sharon referred to it "that damn thing" in a hateful tone. I was accused of intentional aloofness. Indeed, the computer made me to a challenge they felt they had to conquer. Sometimes they said they hated me for having addicted them. I told them these things happened inexplicably on their own accord, that I was not responsible. Besides, I was on the other side, sharing their fate. Perhaps they knew this already but were angry with themselves for being in this state. The roles in which they saw themselves did not support the image they had of themselves. They thought I should be the one to kiss the ground they walked on. I liked and loved them, without worshiping them.

Sometimes I wondered if they really wanted a relationship with me. Janice was strictly a one-man woman, but because she was 3 inches taller, a fact that bothered her, she would have preferred someone else as the focus of her love. I guessed that some of the passion between us was actually a reflection of the ongoing battle in her, between the part that was glued to me and the one that wanted out. This was also true of Sharon, who was 19 years younger and an inch taller. So I knew instinctively that as soon as the girls got hold of their passion, there would be a jolting end. I also sensed that the earthiness in Sharon would eventually demand attention from several men. Combined with the "royalty" in her, I could envision scenes in which Sharon saw herself surrounded by enslaved men who stayed around like pets, while she made the choice for the night. But for now, they saw themselves suffering the indignity they had assigned to me. I was all out but still in control of myself.

It seemed to me that regardless what their "royal" insides told them, both had potent femininity. So by their very nature they were earthy, not royal. In their attempt to conquer and possess me, or because they liked it, their sexuality became powerful, as if they wanted to overwhelm me with it. How lucky could I get? Some nights I woke up to witness Janice enjoying me. Apparently she already had done some work before I woke up. Sharon, her royal highness, could not denigrate herself this way. She remained apparently uninterested and aloof until I made a convincing effort. To make sure I did not fail in my mission, she ran around totally naked, exposing herself this way and that, stretching on the futon with her legs wide open.

Obviously they were enjoying this too, immensely. In fact, so much so they were infinitely jealous and possessive. Even calls from my sisters or daughter displeased them, which they acknowledged on several occasions when I stayed on the phone longer than a few minutes. God forbid, a former girlfriend or one of my ex-wives called, which happened occasionally. The response was unbelievable. On one occasion in 1984, Karin called from Menlo Park, just to chat. As soon as Janice recognized that I was talking to a woman, she punched me hard on the chest and ran to the bedroom to grab her clothes. I hung up and tried to reason with her. She started to beat my upper body and shoulders. I was getting angry. I threw her on the bed and pinned her down, to force her to listen. She started to scream. No words, just eery screams. Having lived with a hot temper myself, I understood this was not just anger. If she stayed a moment longer, she was afraid she would be forced to kill. I released her and she stormed out of the house. She came back several days later.

Four years later, Sharon and I had just returned from one of our long walks. There was a message on the answering device, Semra saying hello. Thinking that someone in the family might have left a message, I turned on the machine. As soon as Sharon heard a woman's voice and knew this was not family, the same scene played out again. I appealed to her until the elevator came up, but to no avail. Sharon could kill in that mood and I did not want to create a scene. I let her go. She called several days later. As if these unnecessary outbursts were not bad enough, both of them accused me of bringing out the worst in them.

From the beginning, I sensed this was not love. It was much more in some ways, less in other ways, different overall. Janice was palingenesis of Gayle, Sharon of Janice. There was no talk of the future; we lived for the present, looking at the future only in terms of a series of "tonight" and next dates. We were bound by hedonistic urges; there was nothing constructive about our direction; we had no plans. In fact, we avoided talking about commitment, because it broke the spell. The intensity was overwhelming. It was an amalgamation of attachment, addiction, and obsession. This was not "love" or not just love. I sensed that nothing good could come out of such a connection, that whatever force was keeping us together was a time bomb.

I anticipated the punishment I would receive for the indignity Janice and Sharon thought I was causing them. Some day, they would learn to control and twist their emotions and then pay me back for all the imagined injuries. Imagined, because I had not abused their feelings, pride, or ego. And I had not cheated on them. Eventually some sort of destruction would follow. I was more curious than concerned; my Mediterranean machismo awaited the challenge. But this was not masochism. I liked intense movies, stories, poems, experiences. There was no way that I would miss these two, for they were my stories. It had to be all the way to the end. Although I had approached both of them with a joint future in mind, the reality of our situation did not cause me melancholy. This was also my thing: "having experience." And I would let them dictate the ending. These were American girls who had grown up in a culture that stressed winners and winning.

The end came, as destructive punishment and, in Sharon's case, copiously over three years. Janice did her thing resolutely as I had expected. In Jan. 1984, she jumped into sack with another guy, perhaps only to break the magic between us. Unlike Sharon, fidelity meant a lot to Janice, also on her part. Since she broke it, she had effectively ended the relationship. Although she called several times, without talking, I knew she would not come back. Once I overcame the addiction, I was not unhappy. And there were other women.

Sharon's tactic was ritualistic but simple. She came to me often, in response to her lingering love, or to make sure that I stayed fully connected. Then, she would cheat and talk about it, to see the effect. I made sure that the effect she saw was the opposite of the one she expected. On the first occasion in Apr. 1990, I asked her in a brotherly tone and a faint smile: "Baby, whom do you think you are cheating?" This perplexed her and for a time she was loving and docile. When I felt down, I discussed the situation with my sisters. Sharon saw only an immovable object who sat next to his computer and looked at her with a patient look. My response may have brought her back for three years. By then, I was done with my programming and research.

I was not playing a game to have Sharon around me, for even docile days with her were often heavy. Because of the age difference between us, I felt also a brotherly, sometimes even paternal, connection to Sharon, although I looked no older, now that she had entered her thirties. Of course, we played many roles over the seven years. For example, it turned on Sharon to hear me say "my whore" to her when we made love. She was infinitely superior to the royal bitch she was striving to become.

Sometimes, she just came, sat, and cried without saying a word. She did this also on the phone, seemingly without a reason. I was always gentle with her. This woman had enough demons to last her a lifetime. She did not need an outraged report about my feelings, nor a kick on the rear. There would probably be future occasions when she would receive the latter from other men. However, I did intend my silent-strong response to convey a message: her attempts to demolish me would not succeed, regardless how deliberately and single-mindedly she was going about them. As much as she could see, she was not even making a dent.

Then, she was assigned to another country. When she called to tell me she was back in Washington on Feb. 5, 1995, and to thank me for the video I had sent to her, I gave her a message too. I moved to Florida on Feb. 28.

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2. Sisters and Things

Femsi and Gary. Femsi and Gary (birth on May 28, 1943) met in a German class at WVU in 1964 or so and dated until their graduation, Femsi as a pharmacist, Gary in mathematics. They married on Aug. 6, 1966 in Niagara Falls, Gary's hometown. The wedding was a large Italian shindig. Family and friends came from places as far as Turkey and Canada. Gary became a consultant with a private firm in Buffalo that dealt in Department of Defense contracts. Their daughter Debra was born on Dec. 7, 1968, their son Glen on Feb. 5, 1971, both in Niagara Falls. Except for the period from Nov. 3, 1978 to June 15, 1979, when Gary was assigned to Hawaii, Femsi and her family lived continuously in Niagara Falls, surrounded by Gary's family. Already in 1964, Mother, Gülhis, and I had felt that Femsi had exchanged us for Gary's family.

After marrying Gary, Femsi replaced her "irrelevant" education in literature, music, ballet, etc. with plebeian pursuits, including on-the-job training in carpentry, plumbing, and other practical vocations that Gary had learned through his father's trade. Femsi may have thought this was a way to fully blend to Gary and insure a made-in-heaven marriage. Her efforts had the opposite effect. After 27 quarrelsome, sometimes benign, years, apparently Gary had second thoughts about his creation, for they divorced. Mother always worried a great deal about her situation, though, like Mother, Femsi never complained. After speaking vehemently against the marriage, Father, who had named Femsi after his beloved mother, did not again bring up this subject. But he remained heartbroken.

On Aug. 8, 1983, Gary was assigned to a suburb of Washington, and the family moved to a Colonial home. In the summer of 1985, Femsi, Gary, and the kids came to Istanbul. Gary's trained charm won over some members of our family, more so than Michael, Gülhis' husband, who came to Turkey frequently and is definitely a more sincere and classier person. Of course, Parents gave them a royal treatment, including an elaborate Mediterranean cruise. I was not there then. Mother told me later that she had been somewhat offended that Gary had deliberately read a novel throughout the trip, perhaps also to convey that the surroundings were not worthy of his attention. I suggested a more plausible reason. Gary had merely projected his level of refinement, which we already knew. Despite his education, culture or hospitality meant little to Gary, unless there was money in it.

On May 28, 1990, when Femsi and Gary were already in the process of a divorce, they agreed to purchase a second home, supposedly as a joint investment. They moved into it. After their divorce on Jan. 10, 1991, Femsi moved into her own town house. Their divorce was hard on Father first, foremost because he had denounced her choice of Gary from the beginning. But soon after the divorce, he learned to live with it, perhaps because we, including Femsi and her children, saw the divorce as the best thing that could have happened to her. It would have been even better if she had divorced him years earlier, as she had contemplated on many occasions, especially when they were in Hawaii in 1979, and after their journey to Istanbul in 1985. In the end, she decided to postpone the divorce until her children were of college age.

The fact that it was Gary in the end who made the move came more as a shock than heartbreak. The shock was not unwarranted, though we did not speak about it as such. In addition to her versatility and excellence in many areas, Femsi was still an attractive woman who looked thirty-something, while Gary, for as long as we remembered, resembled the Michelin Man on tire advertisements. Of course, he had redeeming qualities too. Even I admitted that he had been a responsible provider for his family and reasonably good to his children. Since I did not have these virtues in me, of course he was superior to me as a husband and father. Then again, I would not have continued my marriage if I was not being fair and decent to my chosen life companion.

Be as it may, Gary quit his company and, together with his former secretary, a divorcee with two children from a Brazilian husband, started a franchise in Tennessee. After her marriage, Debra and her husband Richard moved there too, Richard working for Gary. Then Debra and Richard settled down in New Mexico, Debra working as a pharmacist, Richard starting a house-cleaning business. When he was off from school, Glen stayed either with his father or Femsi, until apparently he got smart with his father's mistress and was not encouraged to return.

Glen was a loner. In 1994, he made a curious comment to me, that Knoxville was a more sophisticated city than Washington, because a movie theater there showed exclusively foreign movies. The words conveyed something else to me: extreme stress. I thought he was very disturbed about the choices his father had made recently, that he had moved to the boondocks. There is a Turkish phrase that summarized Gary's decisions appropriately to us: "attan inip e_e_e bindi" (he stepped down from a horse and got on a donkey), which says "he exchanged a horse for a donkey."

Femsi's resilience after the divorce was amazing. I was in Washington when she was going through this difficult time. I saw some shock, disappointment, but also embarrassment about the cheap and underhanded way Gary had betrayed her after 27 years and two children. Divorce was one thing, but the way he had gone about it was another. She was embarrassed for herself, for having lived an illusion, but also for him, for he had been her chosen mate. However, I did not see a trace of bitterness or even regret, for the marriage or divorce. She still paid utmost attention to her children, home, and her new full-time job. She could not wait to get on with her life. I guessed that she was already looking forward to a new husband. (Unlike me, Femsi is domesticated and likes marriage.)

By 1994, Femsi's relationship with Gary evolved into a friendship of sorts, and not entirely for the sake of their children. I suspect this came about primarily because Femsi treated Gary very generously during and after the divorce. Within about a year, she even instructed Gary to stop the alimony and support payments, about $600 per month in toto, the amount of which he had suggested and she had accepted outright.

The new husband, Dale, appeared on the scene on Nov. 27, 1993: a stable, religious, and conservative man originally from South Dakota. He was a high school English teacher in Virginia. Dale had volunteered for two consecutive terms in Vietnam (which earned him my sympathy) and was already married, with a teenage boy and a girl, but he was in the process of extracting himself from his unhappy marriage. He has treated Femsi like a God-sent gift since they met. They married on Feb. 18, 1995, Dale moving in with Femsi.

Gülhis and Michael. Gülhis and Michael M. (birth on Nov. 13, 1946) met while they were students in the art department at WVU sometime in 1970. Michael and his sister Michelle, who was two years younger, had grown up in Weirton, WV. His father was a first-generation Greek immigrant, his mother American. Michael had a bachelor's degree from West Liberty College in Wheeling and had served two years in the Army, doing part of his duty in Berlin.

Gülhis was first attracted to Michael because, she said, he made an effort to get to know her. This was a unique experience for her, for the other young men she had gone out with until then had shown no curiosity about her rich and substantive background. Gülhis enjoys spontaneous chitchat as much as Mother; she also likes soul-level discussions, especially with close friends. So Michael's interest in her was the catalyst that sparked their relationship. Gülhis' impassioned personality seemed to blend well with his dispassionate and quiet character.

Femsi's marriage six years earlier was a parable for Gülhis'. Having lost one daughter to a foreigner, Father was in no mood to have his other daughter carted-off by another. Another family brawl of the sort that attended Femsi's marriage erupted. This time, I interfered and extracted a tacit permit. Gülhis and Michael were married in Waynesburg on Nov. 11, 1972. Only the respective families, our Jewish neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Pincus, and Gülhis' friends from WVU, Allen and Barbara, attended the wedding. Gayle and I came from Washington, Femsi from Niagara Falls.

Gülhis had been drawing since childhood. Her talent was indisputable. However, neither she nor Parents regarded art as a practical profession. So she enrolled as a chemistry student at WVU, a subject that demanded considerable study. Since my sister was already wearing thick glasses, Parents began to worry about her eyes. They encouraged her to switch to another field. Gülhis did this on her own. One day, she was in the library studying for a math exam, when she saw a piece of paper with a poem on it. Instead of studying math, she examined the poem until it dawned on her that she was more interested in it than in math. It was a signal for her to change her field.

After experimenting briefly with psychology, which required lots of reading too, she chose art. At the undergraduate level, the art classes covered studio art, emphasizing painting and sculpture. During these years, Gülhis fine-tuned her talent and produced dozens of drawings, water colors, and large and small oil paintings. We displayed them to family and friends at the basement apartment of our home. For graduate work, she chose sculpture. The school granted her an assistantship under which she taught an advanced class in drawing and composition. During the second semester, she became assistant to the instructor of sculpture, preparing the demonstration topics for each class.

My sister says that the two years at the graduate school, 1971 and 1972, were a special time for her. She was in an amicable environment, surrounded by carefree and independent art students. And she got along nicely with the sculpture instructor, was competent at work, and Michael was in the picture.

Gülhis had started to experiment with wood carvings during her senior year at WVU. For her master's thesis, she chose a difficult theme: organic shapes and continuity. This meant my tiny sister would carve 8 huge walnut trunks, two of which 6 feet in length and 30 inches in diameter, into shapes of intertwining thick ropes, about the size of ropes used to anchor ships. These shapes would depict the image of continuity she had in mind. Of course, to imitate a rope, the shapes would contain several large holes, which meant in turn that she would have to carve the trees all the way through at several places. We were silent. There was not much we could say confronted with such determination. She would start with a hammer and chisel, if not a jackhammer, to produce the general outline of the shape she envisioned. This would probably take several months of daily pounding and drilling. She would then use smaller chisels and other fine tools to accentuate definition. Then she would smooth the works with sandpaper and cover them in dark resin for presentation.

To this day, I cannot conceive how my sister manipulated those tree trunks. However, I do remember carrying the finished product(s) from our driveway to the basement. The two large pieces were so heavy that I could barely lift either one, though she had carved out about half of the original trunks. I had visualized my sister with bulging forearms and biceps after this work. Her arms did not bulge; they were like steel. This is probably why, despite her 5-feet frame, Michael switches to his respectful "yes madam" mode when she bitches at him occasionally. I had three of the smaller standing pieces, each about 4 feet high and 12 inches in diameter, on display at my home in La Jolla until July 1985. They are now with Gülhis in California.

Gülhis and Michael stayed in Morgantown an extra year after completing their master's in 1972. He worked as the head of the arts and crafts office, an entity not connected to the art department. There was a potter's wheel at the office. Michael had taken a summer class in ceramics at the Carnegie Tech. He introduced Gülhis to ceramics. She brought home dozens of glazed plates, saucers, and other items. In Sep. 1973, Michael became the art director of the Oglebay Institute and they moved to Wheeling. Michael worked on graphic designs, while Gülhis taught an adult education class in oil painting.

Early in 1974, a lady at the institute informed Gülhis that the art teacher at the Mt. de Chantal, a private high school, had left unexpectedly, that the school was looking for a full-time replacement. Gülhis interviewed for the position and got the job, her training in ceramics meeting one of the requirements. She was in charge of the art classes for the freshman through senior years, teaching studio art at various levels. One of her students there, an Armenian girl, told her parents that the new art teacher was a Turkish woman. The parents warned the girl that she might fail. The girl related her parents' concern to Gülhis in class, to which my sister replied: "why, are you that bad in art?"

In the summer of 1974, when Gülhis was visiting in Turkey, Michael received a call from the chairman of the art department at West Liberty College, Mike's Alma Mater. The chairman had seen some of Gülhis' paintings at local art exhibits and liked her work. There was an opening for a part-time position at the school. After she returned from Turkey, Gülhis had an interview with the chairman and got the job. Meanwhile, she was so successful at Mt. de Chantal that the school did not want to let her go. The director scheduled the art classes so that Gülhis could teach full-time there and also attend her part-time classes at West Liberty. She continued at Mt. de Chantal until the summer of 1975, and then taught three additional years only at West Liberty.

Michael has an astute, practical, and resourceful mind and knows how to optimize his options. He is also brilliant with electricity and electric gadgets in which he had been at the top of his class in the Army. Knowing that he would have limited opportunities as an artist, he had also pursued photography on the side. This way, he thought he could secure a tangible job and also practice art. In 1977, Michael became a technical representative for Bell & Howell-Mamiya, introducing dealers to new photographic equipment. His region covered the entire northeast. There was a major downside to the new job. Michael had to be on the road almost continuously, for days at a time. And when he was home, he had to prepare for trade shows for the dealers. He spent hours on the phone, talking to the company headquarters and hundreds of dealers all over his region.

The teaching job helped Gülhis to overcome her loneliness when Michael was on the road. During the holidays, when Parents were not in Turkey, she came home. Michael dropped her off in Waynesburg, a distance of about 90 miles from Wheeling, when he was leaving on a trip. On some occasions, they traveled together. Then, in 1978, Gülhis became pregnant, the baby due in October. Since their small trailer would not accommodate a baby too, they considered alternatives. A friend in Columbus, OH told Michael that homes were more reasonably priced in that area. So in July 1978, Gülhis and Michael purchased a small house in Gahanna, an isolated suburb near the airport.

Columbus, OH. Although the writing (of isolation and loneliness) had been on the wall since 1977, after Mike started his new job, the move to Ohio marked a turning point for my sister, the beginning of a very difficult period. Cavit Michael was born on Oct. 10, 1978. Since Mike was almost continuously on the road, Gülhis was alone with her baby. The classes she had taught in Wheeling, and her students, had helped my sister to overcome her loneliness there. She did not have them in Ohio. She continued to paint and draw, but she also needed friends, to ameliorate her isolation.

As in Waynesburg, again America was ugly to her. Although her neighbors, young wives about her age, interacted with each other, sometimes in groups, they did not invite Gülhis. Their friendship was limited to occasional "hi" and "hello." Gülhis sensed she was being shunned, as she had been in Waynesburg. One Christmas, she baked cookies and took some to a neighbor, to break the ice at least with that neighbor. A 16-year-old girl opened the door, took the cookies, said thank you, and closed the door. She got the message: "don't call us, we'll call you when we are ready." The ice age continued for 4 years. My sister grew bitter about America, Americans, and the American lifestyle. Still, being fair-minded, she made allowances when there were exceptions.

In America, friendships are formed also through career and church activities. Gülhis and Mike did not go to church. Since the neighbors avoided her, there were no opportunities for my sister to make friends. Therefore, Gülhis looked forward impatiently to the time when Cavit would be old enough for school, so that she could again start a part-time teaching position and perhaps make friends this way. Until then, she would rely mainly on art, her paintings, watercolors, silkscreens, drawings, etc. to fill her time. She did not paint for the sake painting. Rather, she submitted her work to galleries, exhibits, and shows all over the country. However, after a few years of this effort, diminishing returns began to set. My sister did not want to indulge in art as a therapy; she wanted her art to be a part of a happy and multidimensional life. My sister's emotional state crept into her paintings. Unlike Goya, who sometimes projected tortured subjects, her themes evolved from tangible topics to the spiritual (not religious) and abstract themes that were nonobjective in form. Obviously she was rapidly advancing as an artist, though now I had to ask my sister about the content of particular works, also to understand her state of mind.

Meanwhile, Cavit Michael was growing up. He was a warm and playful child who wanted attention. Gülhis catered to him meticulously, without spoiling him. She had grown up in our shadow and did not want Cavit to feel neglected. She sensed and anticipated his needs. And she noticed unusual personality traits in Cavit. He was fascinated with numbers, schedules, and all sorts of detail, carefully studying clocks, airline schedules (on TV), and all sorts of gadgets with a single-minded focus. Cavit did not only play with his toys; he was trying to figure out their design and inner workings. It dawned on us gradually that we were witnessing a rare thing: the evolution and manifestation of a genius mind.

For the 5 years Gülhis lived in Gahanna, Parents and I worried a great deal about her state of mind. Mother talked to her on the phone every day. In fact, she pushed aside her own isolation to help my sister to deal with hers. Callous neighbors or not, she had to endure, period. Now that she was married, there were no viable options. Sometimes Mother cited moments from her marriage, from 1941 to 1949, when her situation had seemed hopeless. These anecdotes provided a sense of proportion and calmed down my sister initially, but eventually they lost their relevance.

Gülhis and I talked about every other day when I was in Washington. I stayed in touch also from Saudi Arabia, visiting her on every occasion I was in the States. After I returned from Saudi Arabia, I drove to Columbus frequently, also to play with Cavit, watch him grow. I knew him better than my own daughter Belinda at that age and felt closer to him than I did to Femsi's Debra and Glen, whom I saw sporadically for a few days at a time during perfunctory visits. Cavit responded warmly to me. Gülhis says I was the only one to whom he listened when he was out of line, doing some things repetitiously to get attention.

Parents drove to Columbus almost every weekend, despite the distance of 186 miles (one-way). Michael brought Gülhis to Waynesburg when he could, as he had done from Wheeling. After I returned from Saudi Arabia, Parents and I interacted with Gülhis daily, also driving there during the week. Then, after our home sold on Oct. 21, 1981, we spent the winter at the French Village in Columbus, so that we could be near my sister.

Then there were signs that the neighbors wanted to be neighborly. They asked my sister to join them when they were outside. Other invitations followed. They liked her a lot. However, the ebullience did not last. Mike was assigned to California. The neighbors threw a farewell party for Gülhis. By then, my sister had become a cherished neighbor. Some of the women even cried, asking her "do you really have to go?" Gülhis was in tears too. For years she had been seeking warm friends. She had found them, but she had to leave. And she was bitter, thinking "girls, life is too damn short to approach friends this way, putting neighbors through the wringer just to see if they are worthy of you."

After Gülhis settled down in California, her former neighbors wrote to her for about a year. My sister did not respond. The party and the tears had been nice, but she could not forget that they had ignored, indeed ostracized, her for 4 years, for no reason. The friendships that had formed at the end had not lasted long enough to erase the bitter taste of the previous years. Now she felt no anger, but also no friendship.

Cultural Gaps. Gülhis had been introduced to loneliness in Waynesburg and had shared Mother's isolation there for two years from 1963 to 1965. Loneliness had induced both of them to acquire bad habits. Mother, a nonsmoker, smoked 3 or more packs a day, while Gülhis went through mood swings. Together, they had watched soap operas on TV and discussed Rick and Barbara's fate in Love of Life. At WVU, she had made a few friends, some of them roommates, but these friendships had lasted only for the time they were together. She had stayed in touch with her roommate Allen and her friend from WVU (Barbara) for years, but time and the lack of spontaneity were taking their toll also on these two special friendships.

In Wheeling, Gülhis and Mike had lived in a small trailer at an isolated location. They had no meaningful friends from that time. Although my sister had enjoyed interacting with her students, obviously she could not relate to them as friends. She had hoped that her neighborhood in Columbus would be different, at least like Weston. Indeed, Columbus turned out to be worse than Waynesburg and she was more isolated than Mother. Even Parents appreciated this. At least Father came home in the evenings and he was there on weekends. Mother had three adult children. She could call us as often as she wanted and we came home almost every weekend. Parents could also call family and friends in Turkey. And they had a few Turkish and other friends in America with whom they interacted.

In contrast, Gülhis had practically grown up in America, having arrived here at age 11. She did not have anyone in Turkey or Germany to whom she could relate on a daily basis. So she was usually alone at home, taking care of a baby. We were the only company she had, usually over the phone. Her situation also contrasted sharply with Femsi's. Femsi was a pharmacist and could always secure a part-time job. Her husband, though he also traveled, generally came home in the evenings. And she was surrounded by Gary's hugging Italian family. So while Femsi's circumstances allowed her to be a homemaker, Gülhis felt more like an idle single-parent.

Femsi and Gülhis were also confronted by cultural differences in their marriages. Before his retirement, Gary's father had been a plumber and carpenter, Michael's father a car salesman; later he had operated his own bakery shop. My sisters understood that their husbands had grown up in middle-class environments in which "tinkering around" was the favorite pastime, why things like "Home Improvement" on TV and "Do it Yourself" Time-Life books were so popular here--and not elsewhere.

In contrast, we had come from a culture in which social events, socializing, parties, picnics, visits, cafes, etc. were a way of life. People in Turkey did not crawl under a car and spend the weekend fixing an engine. They enjoyed life and paid a repairman to do this work, for this is how the Turkish people, and probably the rest of the world, defined "quality of life." In contrast, Americans were seemingly always on the lookout for ways of saving money, also fixing everything they could, as if the psychic cost of spending a weekend under a car or on the roof were negligible. Indeed, many Americans apparently enjoyed their way as the superior lifestyle. Albeit, this was not a debate about comparative lifestyles. The contrast only underlined the differences. Femsi adjusted to the environment in America, whereas Gülhis did to a degree, if she could also have a social life to balance the dutiful monotony of the former. The fact that a social life did not materialize in her life accentuated the impact of the "tinkering" lifestyle. She liked it much less, feeling doomed to a robotic existence.

Like Gary, Mike could interact amiably with people in his job environment, as salesmen do about impersonal topics. However, neither Gary nor Mike was sociable at home. They tinkered around, played a little with the kids, or slept. When he was alert, Mike prepared for his next trip, whereas Gary's favorite pastime was to stretch out on the sofa, with or without a beer can in his hand, and watch football or baseball on TV. So even when they were physically at home, the husbands lived in their own worlds, which often did not include my sisters. This exacerbated Gülhis' isolation. We had grown up in a milieu in which the family members interacted with each other, did things together. Moreover, our family had been surrounded by a large circle of relatives and friends - indeed, different groups of friends - who associated with each other like an extended family. Together we played, listened to music, partied, danced, flirted, went out, traveled, and talked. And when it was time for work, Father worked, we studied.

Femsi, who was more mutable, made the best of her situation. And Gary's family, not so much Gary, provided social opportunities in which Femsi could indulge whenever she wanted. This way, she met other people and made friends. So while Femsi could capture some of the Turkish lifestyle in Niagara Falls, Gülhis was denied even a rudimentary social life in Columbus. However, there was one significant factor that favored Gülhis' situation. Although Mike was also good with the plumbing, he was educated in arts and humanities and had artistic and esthetics talent. Moreover, the year he had spent in Berlin had opened the gates to multicultural awareness. Thus, Michael had acquired a layer or two of refinement. He could appreciate Gülhis' background and cater to her in some ways.

Gary was different. After having knowingly married a Turkish girl, he seemed then annoyed that she was not as provincial as he was. And although he probably liked her earning potential, her high IQ and rich background may have made him feel uncomfortable in that she would not be in awe of him. Gary was the first one in his family to have a college degree, whereas we had five medical doctors, many engineers and other "degreed" people in our immediate family, going back three generations. Apparently Gary did not see a way in which he could upgrade himself to Femsi's level and decided it would be easier to try to reduce her to his unpolished rank. Then she might even learn to worship him as he was used to, being the only son of an Italian family. This is how I interpreted his quarrelsome manners.

In 1992, Femsi made a curious comment to me. Throughout her marriage she had thought Gary was worldlier than her, not just in America, but worldlier period. This was coming from a person who had traveled halfway around the world to reach America, who had gone to school on three continents, who had excelled in school studying subjects in English, her third language, who read at least one book every week, who could solve Mensa-level puzzles Gary could not fathom, who was brilliant at her profession.

I felt sad, for what Femsi was really telling me was about two golden traits that would function like major impurities in the assertive American arena: lack of self-assertion and naivete, the combination of which would make her appear as if she were weak and lacked self-esteem. In another words, I had a civilized sister who was too noble to deal effectively with the likes of Gary. Ultimately, people like him respected a bitch, because in their world of "it is jungle out there" and "rat race" they judged strength by ultimatums, temper tantrums, mean-spiritedness, and yes "killer instincts." Femsi's IQ could never balance these "gutter" qualities. This is why Gary had been quarrelsome with Femsi, though part of him probably had also appreciated her noble qualities. And these traits explained some other things I witnessed about this time.

Since I was going through a turbulent ending with Sharon then, I compared the two situations. I too had been civilized with Sharon, but for a clear difference. In 1985, when I met Sharon, I wanted a companion while I did my programming and research. If this woman turned out to be marriage potential, I would seriously consider that option when the potential actualized. However, I did not start my relationship by insisting on this outcome. The companionship sufficed, and I had it for 7 years, until I finished my work. This was not a callous or self-serving decision, rather a prudent one. I had been dating since my teenager years. Experience had to be more than a duplication of the same things with different women.

As I saw it, most relationships and marriages began with their foundation in a swamp because, in the heat of romance, one or both partners made the other partner prematurely into a basket for their hopes and dreams. If some of these bonds still flourished, this happened as much by luck or chance as self-effort. My approach insured me from the outset against a shock later, if the gap between what I hoped and expected and the way things evolved could not be reconciled. The latter situation explained why most people felt defeated, as if they were losers, when their relationships broke up. Because their hopes and dreams had been shattered, they lost their inner balance and stability. Since I had immunized myself against shock, as far as I was concerned, Sharon's turbulence added passion to our relationship. And there were also many fine days.

When Sharon became abusive, I showed her the door; otherwise, I was gentle, fair, and understanding with her. I did not use her. Both of us had ample time to decide if marriage was a viable option for us. It was not, but she kept coming back, until she was ready to dictate the ending. So be it. My self-esteem did not plummet, it was not even dented, because it did not come from or through Sharon. That is, Sharon could add to my happiness or subtract from it, but she could not decide my essence. If she felt she was the winner at the end, by all means. (What contest could she have won?) In short, I applied Femsi's nobility pragmatically; I did not resort to the quarrels and verbal abuse of Gary. Amen.

Cavit, Art, Friends, California. In July 1982, 3 months after I moved to La Jolla, Michael's company assigned him to California. Mike came and stayed with his friend Gene in Los Angeles. Gülhis closed the house in Columbus and moved in with Parents in Waynesburg. All of us viewed the relocation as a fantastic opportunity for Gülhis to put the unhappy past behind her. After she returned from her vacation in Istanbul, Mike flew to Columbus to fetch her and their things in a U-Haul truck. They decided they would stay with me until Michael found a home. When they arrived on Aug. 5, 1982, Gülhis was moaning from acute pain in her lower abdomen. She always has had severe monthly cramps, but she kept saying "this does not feel like cramps." We took her to the La Jolla Memorial Hospital. Sure enough, her appendicitis was ready to burst.

While Gülhis recovered at the hospital, Michael's father arrived to help his son to look for a house. The properties in and around Los Angeles were expensive. Like his Father, Michael can scrimp his Dollar, though he is generous with his family. They looked for homes further and further away from Los Angeles. Finally, they decided on a single-family property, in a town about an hour's distance north of Los Angeles. Zuma Beach and the Pacific were about half-an-hour to the west.

Parts of this town were arranged like planned communities where some residential areas hibernated behind walls. As soon as I saw the place a few weeks later, I told to Michael "this place is not for my sister." (Gülhis saw the house after it was purchased.) These people wanted to keep their privacy really private, an anathema to us. However, the town was surrounded by rugged hills and beautiful canyons. We decided things would be all right for Gülhis if she could make friends.

Toward the end of 1983, Michael's parents left Weirton and moved in with Michael and Gülhis, together with about 200 packed boxes. Their daughter had married a dermatologist and lived in Seattle. However, she was not as accommodating as Gülhis and they wanted to be near Cavit Michael. Then they found a trailer park for retired people nearby and purchased a double-trailer there.

Mike's new position required as much travel as before. But unlike Ohio, he would be at home in the evenings. Still, he was on the road about 8 hours every day, sometimes staying away overnight. Each day repeated the same routine. From about 9am to 11am, Mike would call various dealers of camera equipment; then, he would be off visiting several shops in a particular area in his region. He would yak for about 15 minutes at each location; he would drive to the next dealer, and the next. Finally he would arrive at home sometime between 6pm and 9pm. After a quick meal, he would spend another hour or two doing paper work, reading yards of Fax transmitted to him during the day, and preparing the orders for the next day . . .

Obviously this lifestyle did not leave much room for romance and companionship, even on weekends. Often Mike had to be at a trade show his company had scheduled on a Saturday. It seemed to Gülhis that the only thing good about making it in America was that it was better than not making it. She did not perceive anything enriching about this kind of life, though, according to the government statisticians, their income level qualified them among the solid, thus presumably happy, middle-class. As in Ohio, my sister concentrated on Cavit, art, telephone calls to or from us, and reveries of happier days.

Gülhis was new in the area and did not know the quality of some of the art shows. She noticed that on some shows bored housewives with no background in art were in charge of selecting the pieces that would be included in the show. Their judgment, always subjective, was dubious at best, especially when it came to some of the abstract works. If the judges saw a tree and knew what the painting represented, it was included, whereas if they could not decipher the theme of an abstract painting, it was not.

The artist in Gülhis was offended by this. On occasion, some works, including a few of hers, were placed behind a door, upside-down, or in an unfavorable way, like hanging a dark painting at a dim corner. My sister was angry that judges would treat someone's work so arbitrarily, after months of exhausting effort. The shows were seemingly arranged not so much to further art but to advertise "see how cultured we are; we have an art show." Eventually Gülhis found out about the good shows and began sending her works to "juried" exhibitions. Some of her watercolor and silkscreen works won prizes. But without friends, Gülhis felt like an automaton keeping up with exhibitions. She continued, though with less enthusiasm.

At age 5, Cavit started kindergarten. He seemed to possess musical talent, but Gülhis and Mike were not sure. They purchased him an electronic (Casio) keyboard. It had five built-in tunes that were accompanied by distinct combinations of lights, so as to teach children musical notes by sound and light. A switch played the same tunes according to about ten different syncopated rhythms, such as mambo, Samba, etc. Cavit could also isolate different musical instruments on the keyboard. One day, when Gülhis was walking by Cavit's room, she heard one of the tunes playing, but this was different: there were no lights accompanying the music. Cavit had memorized all five tunes and was playing them himself on the keyboard. She made a mental note of this.

On Apr. 12, 1984, Bell & Howell went bankrupt and, for about a month Mike was in limbo and insecure. I had just terminated my apartment in Marina del Rey and was staying with them until the end of the month when my tenants in La Jolla moved out. On May 14, 1984, Mike became a sales representative for Cannon, in charge of the coastal areas of southern California from San Diego to Santa Barbara. He has done well since then, earning "salesman of the year" award for almost every year he has been with Cannon, including complimentary trips to Tokyo.

Gülhis sensed that people here erected walls around them too, as they had done in Columbus. Cavit was in kindergarten, and presumably this was an opportunity for mothers to meet, but again she was shunned. These women chattered among themselves in front of the school, when they brought and picked up their children, but they did show any interest in Gülhis. When she tried to join them, they politely ignored her, sometimes in a "what do you want" silence. It seemed this is how the majority of Americans were, regardless of the geography.

Gülhis could not meaningfully discuss her isolation with her husband, who was a social recluse himself. Mike interacted with dozens of camera dealers every day. By the time he came home, he had no need for social life. Occasionally, when she tried to explain her loneliness to him, he responded with a gem like "you are much too sensitive," a common reply by Americans with no sensitivity, or ones who had not been shunned.

Once, to make Gülhis' predicament clear to Mike, I asked him: "suppose my sister had a job where she could interact with people and you were stranded at home, contemplating your navel every day, day after day. How would you feel?" I had asked a simple question, but from Mike's facial reaction it dawned on me that he did not see something unusual about his wife's hibernation. And he was so consumed by his work that he had no time to consider also his wife's situation. Or his own daily chores were having a numbing effect on him.

Although Mike did not respond in words, his silence spoke. He was a traditional husband from a middle-class milieu. According to him, a wife was supposed to stay at home and take care of the kids and the household. The fact that his wife had a master's, artistic ambitions, and needed friends made no crucial difference in his practical mind. His unsaid response was something like "if she feels so strongly about a career for herself, she should not have married." Indeed, my sister had married under the illusion of a pipe dream: that Mike would help her to find the gate to the world of art in southern California. She was having second thoughts about marriage in general, her own in particular, but she was also aware that she did not have realistic options.

Within about two years after she arrived in California, Gülhis began to undergo a transformation, though she did not recognize the process then, not until about ten years later (1993). Although my sister was still trying to overcome her loneliness and the monotony of her life, she was not succeeding. Gülhis realized she was at a crossroad: become lethargic and allow life to defeat her, or fight defeatism by directing her energies constructively in another way. She chose the latter, foremost because by this time it was clear that Cavit was a gifted child who required guidance and extra care. She began to see Cavit's progress as her true calling--so much so that by the early 1990s she also stopped painting. And she signed up at Cal Lutheran to get her credentials as a high school art teacher. Rejuvenated by her resolution, she started as a substitute teacher in 1984.

The same year, Cavit (6) began the 1st grade. When he was at home, he taught himself musical notes, by studying notes and cord arrangements in Gülhis' guitar books. When we were in Samsun, 25 years ago, my sister had taken piano lessons for a year. She had also picked on her guitar on and off since her college days. She decided that Cavit, now almost 7 and ready to begin the 2nd grade, should play the song flute. He had already started to compose musical pieces, writing the notes down rapidly by hand, more fluently than he could write words with the alphabet. He told her that he heard the notes as he scribbled them down on paper.

Cavit got also a new IBM-compatible computer. As he had done with all his gadgets and toys since he was a baby, he did not merely play with it; he tried to figure it out. Within a year, he was so good on the computer that Mike bought him a soundboard, speakers, and a software with which Cavit could test his complex musical compositions.

In 1986, when Cavit finished the 2nd grade and was doing well in school, Gülhis added a new dimension to her life, as she had contemplated doing years ago. She had been teaching as a substitute teacher for about 18 months when a part-time teaching position became available at a college nearby. My sister got that position, also continuing her high school job for another six months. (She has been teaching at this college since then.) She got along famously with her students and gradually came in contact with other people and formed a few whimsical bonds.

These initial bonds were erratic, because Gülhis noticed some friends called and visited her only when they were going through a difficult time in their lives. They would talk for hours about intimate details, and then she would not hear from them for months, until they experienced the next difficult cycle. These friends shared happier times with other friends, without giving even a courtesy call to her. It dawned on my sister gradually that if she insisted on having people around her, she would have to accept them as they were. This realization accelerated her transformation. She became less needy of people and applied herself instead to Cavit, her own evolution, classes, students.

Meanwhile, Cavit's music thrived rapidly, while he also played the song flute. He was so gifted that at about the time when he started the 3rd grade Mike decided to purchase a piano for him. The place that sold them the piano also had an instructor. He was Cavit's teacher for a year. Gülhis started the piano with Cavit and within a year, without any lessons, was able to present passionate renditions of the Moonlight Sonata and other complicated pieces.

In 1987, Cavit, now almost 9 and in 4th grade, was introduced to the flute. However, he was having a difficult time with it; the teacher recommended that he should switch to the clarinet. He was good enough on that instrument to join the school band that year. Gülhis contacted a lady by the name of Idris Leonetti to tune the piano at home. The lady had been a gifted child herself. After she heard Cavit play, she recommended that he should have a more advanced piano teacher. She called later and volunteered, for pay, as his teacher.

Cavit continued his piano lessons under her direction for the next four years, while also teaching himself programming on the computer. And for more than three years, he continued to play the clarinet in school. After Cavit started the junior high, Gülhis received a telephone call from his new music teacher Mrs. Alexander. The lady said that she did not easily recommend the bassoon to students, but she found Cavit so talented that she thought he should switch to it. So in 1991, in 8th grade, Cavit (13) started the bassoon. Indeed, he was so good with it that soon he was asked to join the local Youth Orchestra. Then he wrote an elaborate musical composition for the bassoon and piano. It won the first prize at the PTA-sponsored county-wide competition. A year later, he had a second composition for full orchestration.

In high school, Cavit joined the school's wind ensemble where he played the first bassoon. The school band needed more saxophone players. After two weeks of training on that instrument, Cavit got the part and joined the band. He also enrolled in a college-level computer class in his freshman year. By 1992, he was fluent with Windows 3.1 and several other major software. He started to write complex "multitasking" programs on his own. Cavit also progressed on the piano. Now he could play straight compositions by Mozart, Bach, Chopin, and others. By the time he (16) reached the 12th grade in 1994, his music teacher invited him, without an audition, to play the first saxophone with the jazz band at the school. He was also taking the college-level calculus and an advanced college-level class in computers. In the fall of 1996, Cavit (18) started his university education under music scholarship at UCLA.

Femsi and I. Femsi and I grew up together in Turkey and attended the same schools. A daring tomboy, she did almost everything I did, except getting into fights. She carried Father's mother's name, whereas I was given Mother's maiden name. Femsi was like Father and looked like him; I was like Mother and resembled Mother's father. Femsi was a bright achiever; I was frivolous, a romantic like Mother, destined to be a late bloomer. Things Father liked in Mother he did not like in me, for he wanted a son in his image. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become a doctor, when Femsi was the undisputed performer in grade school. I also performed but aimlessly. In short, Femsi fit the recipe Father had in mind for his son; I did not. He approved of her, not of me. Meanwhile, Mother catered to me but was also meticulous with my sisters. She did not discriminate between us. Obviously I liked Mother, not Father. In fact, I did not see anything in him that I wanted to copy.

When I was a child, I tried to earn Father's approval, until I sensed, in my teenage years, that I would have to be a different person to achieve this. Then, I did not give a damn and felt free to do the things Father did not approve, perhaps also to give him a few concrete reasons to justify his disapproval. But for Mother, I would have left home early, probably to become a mercenary like Robert Denard, or something along those lines. As late as 1985, Father still blamed me for Femsi's fate, that instead of becoming a doctor she had married someone like Gary. According to him, I had not set a proper example for Femsi, that in her attempt to imitate me Femsi had squandered her opportunities. He knew his daughter as much as he thought he knew me.

So I grew up feeling that I had cheated Father not once but twice: for not being born like the son he had envisaged, and also for spoiling the chances of his daughter who matched that image. Of course, these totally unfair accusations brought about a smoldering rage in me. His medieval views and soul-imprisoning strictness at home were more likely the real circumstances that drove Femsi to the lap of the first guy who wanted to marry her. Father did not consider this possibility.

Femsi and I were happy at WVU, away from home. I came back primarily on account of Mother's infinite warmth. And she was suffering from being alone at home on weekdays. So I wanted to add a little spice to her life, though often I agitated the friction with Father and exacerbated her problems. After about 1966, Father's opinion of me no longer mattered, and I kept my temper in check out of love and respect for Mother.

Father's stroke on Dec. 4, 1989 changed all that. For the first time, I felt sympathy for him. And having suffered a stroke, he was careful not to delve in thoughts that agitated him. It was a start. All his life, he had been churned by demons and by an unquenchable desire to achieve fame and fortune. I could not blame him for what he was, though he had blamed me for being me, for he had made himself miserable too. Given his personality, he could not be someone else. In spite of the difficulties he put me through, I had lived a rich life because of him, though thanks to Mother. I felt no grudge. After we left Turkey permanently on Sep. 2, 1992, I made an effort to be a friend to him. The joke is on Father. I believe that now he approves of me more than Femsi, in spite of my Bohemian lifestyle, accompanied by long hair, head band, shorts, T-shirt, and a strong sense of freedom and adventure, contrary to everything in which he still believes.

The Turkish culture, perhaps our strict family culture, also interfered. I was 16 and Femsi 14 when we left Turkey. Femsi reached puberty effectively when we were in Germany, about 1959. While I was living life all out, Femsi began an innocent romance with a boy, his name Hermann, from across the street. One night, I came home at about 9:00 p.m. and saw Femsi with him. They were only talking, in front of the house. I slapped Femsi for being out with a boy and so late. I was not bothered about this then, but as I grew older, many a night I woke up moaning about what I had done, how badly I had embarrassed my sister, how insensitive and selfish I had been in those years. Femsi never said a word about it, but I felt self-conscious. I promised to myself that I would never again embarrass anyone, that somehow I would make up to my sister. Before I had my chance, I was beholden to Femsi again. When I arrived in America the second time on Dec. 13, 1961, I had no friends and felt imprisoned in Weston. Femsi introduced me to her friends and helped me to acclimate to my new environment.

The first opportunity came in 1965. Femsi, Gary, and I were in the garage in Waynesburg. We were arguing about something excitedly in our Mediterranean way, when Gary interjected, supposedly to defend Femsi. Gary is quarrelsome but not physical; I am. I saw red and started to walk to him. Femsi stepped in front of me, saying something to appeal to my senses. My anger evaporated when I remembered the promise I had made. Gary and I observed temperance after that. I saw Femsi occasionally after her marriage. After they moved to Virginia and I settled down in Washington, D.C. in 1986, I visited them more often, about every three months. Sometimes Gary made snide comments on these occasions, but I remained passive. My sister was already having a difficult time; I did not want to undercut her and exacerbate her situation. Besides, I was in their home. If Gary wanted to use the opportunity to polish his ego, the little points he thought he gained were not consequential to my ego.

This had not been always so. I lived with a hot temper for most of my life and allowed my impulse to react to all real and imagined offenses as if they were life-threatening or always involved my honor. I had overreacted to minor situations and then suffered from guilt and remorse. Eventually it began to dawn on me that I was causing myself spiritual clutter. I was losing not by losing but by attempting to come on top in situations in which victory meant nothing and there could be no winner.

So a year after I arrived in Saudi Arabia (1977), I started an arduous self-improvement plan, to take an inventory of myself. I had not been able to initiate such an exercise before. The abstemious environment in Saudi Arabia supported my effort. The circumstances did not interfere and I had seemingly endless time to allow my resolutions to mature. I had my favorite places deep in the desert where I camped many a night, to reach new resolutions and check on the status of the ones I had already made. I did this often while sitting on top of a sand dune, gazing at the serenity and silence around me, at the stars at night. My thoughts remained on track even when I noticed other things, how the sand dunes looked just like static photos of a storm at sea. I had seen waves like this in the Black Sea and in the Atlantic. My mind sifted the past through new and wiser filters.

The five years in Saudi Arabia had been wonderful and purposeful in many respects, but the opportunity for self-reflection had been the most enriching part of my stay there. Now, Gary was a harmless opportunity for me to put into practice my independence. I was in control of my temper and impulsiveness; I could differentiate between inconsequential things and principles; my sense of proportion was refined. I could implement these changes securely, knowing that my instincts and personality would signal me when not to bend.

From 1964, when Femsi met Gary, to 1985, when I left California and moved first to New York, then Washington, D.C., Femsi and I had limited contact. Already in 1965, she was almost always with Gary, often accompanying him to Niagara Falls during school breaks. Femsi did this so blatantly that Mother worried a great deal about how this would appear to Gary's family. And she felt that Femsi was replacing our family with his. Gülhis and I concurred.

After her wedding in 1966, I saw Femsi about once a year, when she brought her children home to Waynesburg for a few days. Sometimes Gary came with her. In 1971, my second wife Gayle and I spent our informal honeymoon at the Sheraton in Canadian Falls. We visited Femsi and her family briefly then. In 1979, on the way back from my excursion to the Amazon, I stopped by in Niagara Falls for two very nice days with Femsi. After I returned from Saudi Arabia, in the winter of 1980, my daughter Belinda and I visited her for a day or two. Late in 1982, when Belinda and I were having problems in La Jolla, Femsi called and tried to help over the telephone.

So, in these 21 years, I saw Femsi only about a dozen times and no more than a day or two on each occasion, always in company. The visit in 1979 may have been the only exception in that we were alone during the day to have fun. Otherwise, we knew what was happening to us through Mother.

After 1985. Crisis. I saw Femsi and her family again in Virginia on July 20, 1985, when I was on my way to New York. They had just returned from a vacation in Turkey. I wanted to leave my Mazda on the curb in front of their home until I decided on my immediate future. I did not need a car in New York and parking was very expensive, as also my rent. By habit, I do not ask people for unreasonable favors, certainly not for something that I would not do for them. Gary refused. He and I did not owe anything to each other, except mutual courtesy because of Femsi. What disturbed me was that his response spoke loudly about the status of my sister's marriage, which had been precarious for years. Now there was no room even for pretense. I took the car to my first wife Judith in Morgantown, a much better choice despite the distance.

Femsi had been an enigma to us throughout her marriage. She had been a top student in every school she had attended. Now her sharp mind did not have many outlets at home. She solved puzzles and read detective novels late into the night, after Gary and the kids were asleep. This came after a full day of going to work part-time, attending to household chores, spending time with her children, also helping them with their homework, counseling several members of Gary's immediate family with their personal problems, catering to her insufferable husband, and fixing something in the house. My sister did this day after day for 21 years, seemingly loving every moment of it, until we knew better in 1985.

For as many years, I wondered if the women in my family, all of them very smart, knew something I did not see. Mother had done the same with Father, though without the repairs, and my other sister had decided on the same route in 1972, just as I was emerging an "almost confirmed bachelor" from my second marriage. The contrast became a puzzle to me. How did these polluted guys find such fine women? My inquiry was not prompted by envy; it was more a curiosity. I knew my personality would not fit into this predictable mold. But it seemed that many men, and women too, got this kind of devotion when perhaps a kick on their rear would have been more appropriate.

Femsi was bright, quick, and seemingly superior in every way to Gary and even her children. Yet, she had almost wilfully subjugated herself in her marriage. Even absurdity has to make sense. For years, we tried to understand her mind. Was she so proud that rather than admitting to herself and us that she had chosen the wrong man she decided to tolerate her predicament? Could she be an imbecile in real life? Was she a person without an ego, who could justify the injuries as she went along? Surely she was not scared of Gary.

We were reminded of Femsi's courage by an incident in the mid-1980s. She had a part-time job at a small pharmacy in Alexandria then. One night, she locked the store and was walking to her car when two black youths confronted her with a gun and asked her to hand over her purse. She had the money from the store in it. Femsi looked them in the eye and said "shoot if you want; I am not giving it to you." The guys exchanged glances and not knowing what to do ran away. If I had been there, I would have kicked her rear for stupidity, but obviously I could not question Femsi's courage. So why was she timid in her marriage? Well, this was not entirely true. Femsi's voice in anger could overwhelm a fog horn. She tolerated emotional abuse until Gary went overboard. Then the accumulated anger exploded with such vehemence that it probably fractured Gary's domineering ego.

Sometimes these scenes played out in front of us. Obviously their quarrels had an effect on Debra and Glen, especially when the personality differences between Femsi and Gary also projected on their judgment as to how the kids should be raised. Although Femsi and Gary made a conscious effort not to draw the children into their fights, the kids evolved also by the ambiance at home. I witnessed the results after 1991. Having observed her mother taking things in, the quiet Debra became an "I know my rights" kind of young woman; Glen acted as if he could not decide on an identity. Part of him catered to his mother, while another part practiced the ego trips of his father, though in a brooding fashion. I thought he would face a more complicated future than his sister. Albeit, my sister's jerky marriage was a case study of how to build animosity in a relationship.

So in the fall of 1985, after 21 years of discontinuity, Femsi and I broke the ice as mature adults. However, our relationship began under extreme duress and confusion. Femsi was adamant about leaving her husband and home and was taking steps to that end. Gary and the children sensed nothing. Femsi and I spoke daily on the phone and Gülhis got involved too. Gülhis and I were as adamant about dissuading Femsi from such a rash scheme, in view of the weird circumstances surrounding her decision. We would have failed, had the opportunity to leave not fizzled. For a month or two, Femsi wafted in heavens before landing on a dung heap, and $7,000 or so lighter.

Indeed, the "opportunity" had been a fiasco all along, though Femsi refused to see it that way. She pursued it fanatically, convinced that if she wished hard enough, manipulated the variables cleverly enough, and persisted long enough, she could convert garbage to gold. I saw her Mensa-quality IQ playing tricks on her. I witnessed this again in 1991, when she was going through her divorce, and again, this time mildly, in 1994, when she met Dale, her second husband. In the latter case, though she went through the motions of scrutinizing Dale, this was only a perfunctory exercise, perhaps to prove to us that, unlike in 1985, she could be also responsible and not hasty.

I noticed that in personal matters, my sister first decided on the outcome her emotions told her and then molded her mind to see, or twist, all surrounding variables so that they supported the outcome she wanted. She could solve mental puzzles which would have put a knot to most minds, yet she could be also unbelievably naive, superficial, and scattered. So this crossing of paths with my high-IQ sister in 1985 began befittingly with a dilemma for me: how to make sense of this brilliant fool. In contrast, Gary, though smart, did not share her brilliance. But he was astute, greedy, and practical enough to qualify as a lesser fool.

I had puzzled over this type of paradox before, about Gov. John Sununu, after reading about some of the conundrums he could solve in his head and then listening to his logically vacant views on TV. I thought the same of George Will, the erudite would-be Shakespeare of American journalism, who often wasted his talent to support a polluted logic and set predisposition. To me, their fame originated from the fact that in the unique American environment they could elevate a segment of the population to their level of confusion.

I tried to understand the way Femsi's mind worked. A puzzle, even a complex one, was a neutral mental challenge with an elusive but concrete structure, something like an attenuated E=mc^2 that would-be Einsteins designed to tickle minds who liked that sort of thing. Femsi's logic had the capacity to figure out the pattern of these structures and find the only door. The more complicated versions of these problems fell to the domain of mathematics which Femsi could have pursued as a profession. With her acute mind, she could have continued to mathematical physics, molecular biology, or to a variety of the highest mental endeavors, perhaps even deriving a "Femsi's Law" in some field eventually. But Femsi's instincts, dictated by her personality, overwhelmed the potentials of her mind.

By luck, coincidence, or choice, some people heard their call, pursued it, and formed a symbiosis with their genes. This is how Einstein became Einstein, Beethoven Beethoven, Shakespeare himself. Although I never told Femsi this, by aiming to be an over-the-counter pharmacist instead, a career a studious person with a reasonable IQ could have mastered, Femsi had expediently cheated God, her unique genes, and herself. Femsi, savant, had been a fool already in 1962 when she enrolled at WVU.

As I saw it, a natural fool had the privilege of being foolish. But when a genius behaved so, and on a major decision that arbitrarily discarded a talent and paved the course of the rest of his or her life, this had to be a crime against nature. Of course there would be consequences in addition to the waste. In Oct. 1994, I brought up this subject with Mike, Gülhis' husband. Like Femsi, he had eviscerated his talent in electricity and engineering, which had surfaced while he was in the Army, to become a camera salesman. His reason? He had aesthetic inclinations and a degree in art was the fastest way he could get a diploma. Why was this so urgent? He wanted to start a family and be able to support it.

I could see people with average minds or limited opportunities following these ready molds, but I could not imagine Einstein, Beethoven, et al. making such choices. Even for very talented people, marriage and family rarely conflicted with career ambitions, in this case their self-actualization. Mike could have delayed his family plans a few years, carved his path, and then shared it with a family. So, as far as I was concerned, he too qualified as a "bright fool." Mike was not unaware of this. He often summarized the monotony of his predicament as "it pays the bills." He did not need to say more.

As with Mike, by choosing to be a pharmacist, Femsi thought she could hit several birds with one stone and find freedom, earning power, marriage, etc. all in a timely fashion. As if she could not have realized these goals and much more by investing in her talent. She thought she was being clever and visionary. I did not belittle her chosen profession, but I thought my sister's brain had higher potentials. There were fields that would have challenged her fully. Instead of delving into inconsequential puzzles and banal "who dun it" detective and spy novels late into the night, she could have nurtured her brains. And by "suboptimizing" herself, she had forced the other major variables in her life, including her choice of Gary, and the lifestyle she would live, to fit this blueprint. My sister could decipher all sorts of complex patterns, but in real life she had chosen for herself a simple pattern.

I could reconcile this conflict between potential versus reality in only one way. As with Mike, Femsi's outlook on life was decided primarily by her personality, not by the capacity of her mind, not talent. This is why sometimes very smart people did very foolish things, why people with lower IQs made intelligent choices. The really brilliant achievers had to be those people whose personality harmonized with their high IQ and its direction. If so, Femsi could not have graduated from puzzles to E=mc^2, because her personality interfered. Despite her capacity to delve into puzzles, it was clear that my sister was not a deep thinker, no philosopher. Femsi may have been cognizant of this paradox in her by the time she enrolled at WVU. In a way, she optimized her talent, also taking into account her personality. On the other hand, for the following 30 years, her high IQ kept nagging at her. This is why she solved puzzles and read spy novels late into the night, the only time in her busy busy schedule when she could be alone with her brain. She did not indulge in these pastimes because "she just liked them." They were a way in which my sister periodically romanced an unfulfilled native call.

Things I perceived in 1985 supported these conclusions. When confronted with problems in real life, especially in personal matters, Femsi's emotions and personality impeded on her precise logic. She acted as if she could not comprehend the difference between a puzzle and a real life situation. A puzzle was always static. Its structure, however complex, never changed. In contrast, the structure of a real life problem, or one's perception of it, changed daily, often suddenly. I noticed that Femsi's mind failed when confronted by a dynamic puzzle that taxed also her emotions. Like most people, she juggled all sorts of elusive variables, including feelings, to find a solution, to reach a decision. Her personality, background, upbringing, and other subtle elements biased this process.

In really taxing situations, ones accompanied by emotional chaos, her mind literally decayed as it attempted to force the dynamic pattern of her situation into a static mold, to gain some control over it. But instead of using her mind in expedient and pragmatic ways to reach this goal, she struggled to outsmart her predicament. That is, she forced her mind to support her biases and notions. If she did not quite succeed this way, she then applied stubbornness as a proxy willpower to bend the situation to her will. This is when logical deterioration began, as Femsi adjusted her principles, views, values, thoughts, logic, her entire being, to fit an evolving situation into a static mold her mind imagined, one she "preferred." Of course, this behavior was not unique to Femsi. For example, many people insisted on seeing redeeming qualities in collapsing relationships and hung on desperately. But this said much more about their personalities than IQs. On one occasion, Femsi told me that she had stayed with Gary this long because despite his quarrelsome ways she was sure that he loved her and only her and had been faithful to her . . . What could I say?

Femsi and I were experienced adults now and this was the first time I attended her in her private life. Things I could not observe, Femsi told me. She was not being sensible. Her IQ did not guarantee sound thinking or reasoning, nor correct judgment. Moreover, I did not like some of the things I saw and heard. I assumed she had been so unhappy in her marriage that, in her desire to get out (in 1985), she was confusing absurd notions with rational thoughts. Then I heard a more objective voice. If she had been so unhappy in her marriage, she could have left with dignity and then sorted things out, years ago. Unlike Gülhis, Femsi could have earned a substantial income on her own. For the first time in 41 years, I began to see a different Femsi, though I still could not decide to what extent the defects were brought about by her osmosis with Gary. Be as it may, the way she wanted to leave in 1985 was not the way to go.

After I settled down in Washington in 1986, I saw Femsi and her kids about every three months until 1990. Gary was often away on business. So these occasions presented an opportunity to me to try to establish some sort of spontaneity with Debra (18) and Glen (14). I preferred to visit them when Gary was away, for the ambiance was too strained when he was there. Although Gary had the ability to turn on orchestrated jolliness, which he substituted for sincerity, I did not want to feel as if I were a visitor in my sister's home. After refusing me to park my car in front of his home, this guy still greeted me with a hug, as "brother." I never called him "brother" and would not have volunteered to hug him. However, had our roles been switched, I would have offered him to park his car while he adjusted the variables around him. To me, these simple gestures were "common decency" that mature people owed to each other; they did not even rank as favor. "Brother" and hugs could not compensate for lack of civility. But I played along because I was glad to be with my sister and the kids.

Of course, the fact that I was Femsi's brother also qualified me for things like an invitation to the Christmas dinner. I accepted the invitations to play my part in their vestigial family play. Being a bachelor and of "adventurer" cut, I was not programmed to be in Christmas mode, whatever that meant, just because it was Christmas. I did not feel melancholic when I was alone in my apartment, at an airport, on the train, in a car, in the desert, jungle, etc. at Christmas. I had passed through the "Christmas" phase two decades ago, with Parents in Waynesburg and when I was married. Now I viewed these celebrations as commercial holidays and occasions of fake wholesomeness and solidarity. Femsi's situation was a good example of the latter, a synthetic pause in their constant battle of wills and deteriorating marriage.

After 1989. Divorce. Spontaneity is an excellent filter to screen out the phony stuff in relationships. I had a glimpse of my sister in 1985 and a little since then, but always over major issues in her life that consumed her. I had been a trusted friend and counselor to her. In fact, I had been so considerate of her feelings that sometimes I sought her advice about matters in my life, just to balance the relationship and nurture her ego. I did not want Femsi to feel as if I were capitalizing on her difficulties and confused state of mind to assume an aura of superiority in our relationship. Unfortunately, her deteriorating marriage was not something we could push aside. Sometime in 1989 or 1990, Gary announced that he wanted out. The news caught my sister unprepared. So from about 1989 to 1991, again my sister and I related over a crisis in her life. This was no time to really get to know her one-to-one on neutral grounds. Once again, I had to be her friend and counselor.

It was not enough that Gary had my sister; he thought he should also conquer and subjugate her. So, like a capacitor, Femsi collected charge until her rage exceeded his and she let him have it. This was the only time she dominated the situation, a role she did not want to play. Having pushed her to this state, Gary whittled away her love each time. Nevertheless, Femsi was already used to these marital cycles and thought she could continue to flutter in this fashion. She was not ready for the divorce when it came, perhaps because she was not the one initiating it this time.

The logic of acute minds can be incomprehensible, but I began to see a consistent pattern. There were several very endearing qualities about my sister. I decided that either Femsi lacked the tools women use to train men, or she did not use them because she did not want a trained man. She was not assertive primarily because she was a romantic. Femsi did not believe that she should rely on artificial tools like assertiveness to get along with her chosen life-companion. These were noble qualities, except for the fact that she had chosen a "bitchy" husband to practice nobility. Then again, with a superior man, nobility would have come easily.

I had known all along that Femsi was a fighter, but when her heart was involved, Femsi wasted her mind on figuring out either how to beat a dead horse to death, or how to bring back a dead horse to life. Again, she played the part I had seen in 1985 and struggled to gain control over the situation. I was perplexed at first, not quite sure what exactly she was aiming for: to preserve her marriage, or herself in divorce. In 1985, she had been ready to walk out of her home like an inmate leaving a prison. Now, Gary was actually doing her a favor by taking out the guilt she would have felt had she left then.

It dawned on me that Femsi was not really handicapped by romantic attachment; she was struggling with the addiction that comes with long relationships. Having figured out his moves behind the scenes, Gary was already acclimated to the situation and had found a convenient substitute. Femsi was getting used to the circumstances now. Then, when Gary started to propose the terms of their divorce, Femsi became very understanding and generous. I thought this was her way of conveying to Gary that by rejecting her, one so wonderful even in adversity, he was the one who was really losing. True enough, but I was alarmed that my sister was going through a logical breakdown again.

Then Femsi acclimated to her situation and I saw her really shine, though in the armor of a fool, part of me thought. Like me, sometimes Femsi chose not to follow colloquial wisdom. She was being altruistic to Gary not out of stupidity but nobility. He was still the father of her children and she did not want the divorce to alienate them. The kids were already staunchly on her side and Femsi wanted them to feel comfortable with both of them. She did not want to be punishing, for ultimately they had been both responsible for what had happened to their marriage. She knew she could have left a long time ago. And despite the disappointment, finally she was rid of him. She did not want to remain tied to him by artificial means. This was celebration, not mere generosity. Their marriage had begun with a shindig; now my sister was throwing a party for herself. Well . . .

After 1991. "Uncle Sirman". By late 1991, Femsi's divorce was final and she had acclimated to her situation. I thought it was time for me to figure out where I stood with my sister on a person-to-person basis. Our interaction became spontaneous when Parents moved in with her on Sep. 2, 1992. In 1985, and when she was going through her divorce in 1991, Femsi seemed real, perhaps somber but real. Now that the worst was behind her, I began to notice an air of phoniness about her. On the surface she was sisterly and dutiful, but the warmth she projected seemed exaggerated, a put on. Having lived with Gary, she had adopted some of his ways, I thought. But there were other subtle signals. To start with, Femsi was adamant that Debra and Glen, now both in their 20s, still addressed me as "Uncle Sirman."

Since Femsi is as informal as I, her insistence on formality did not make sense. I did not mind being addressed so by little children, but not by young adults, especially in informal America. When I was teaching at UCLA and other colleges, I had told my students, some of them young people in their teens, that I was Sirman in and out of class. There had been no trace of abuse. Debra and Glen knew and witnessed that Gülhis' Cavit, who was 7 years younger than Glen, called me Sirman and we were friends. But somehow they could not or did not make the switch.

This was not an idle issue with me because I sensed something else. The "Uncle Sirman" I heard from Debra and Glen somehow did not convey respect, not even formality. It was more a like wall between us, destined to keep us apart. It was as if Gary had defined for them how close I would be to the family and Femsi and the kids were following his directive. The given fact of "Uncle Sirman" was the limit. And they appeared ambivalent about how close they wanted to be to me.

Formula relationships were fine at work and for casual acquaintances. However, I did not want to like Debra and Glen because they were my sister's kids, and I did not care to be tolerated by them because I was their uncle. "Mother's brother" had served us all right while they were growing up. Now that Gary was out of the house, I wanted to make an effort to establish some sort of spontaneity and friendship with the "kids," and not just for Femsi's sake. Karma had already prepared the ground for us. I knew them since their respective births and had watched them grow. We even had a few cozy pillow fights under our belt from the 1970s. This was already a nice beginning. By definition I was their uncle; they were my niece and nephew. I would have three such relationships in this life, they would have only me for an uncle. On the other hand, these labels had required no effort from us. Now I wanted to fertilize the soil. My efforts did not have to succeed. However, we had a chance of achieving something in addition to the given, at least to solidify our ties and be congenial in each other's presence. Femsi's "new beginning" could be the same for all of us. My sister could have made a difference, but she insisted on the phony "Uncle" even more than the kids.

Nevertheless, in 1990 and 1991, it seemed as if Debra and I could form a friendship of sorts. Some of our one-to-one conversations were very congenial, also about personal stuff. We walked her dog together a few times, chatted about this and that, and went out for ice cream once. Our relationship reached its peak right after Debra graduated from WVU and moved in with Femsi. Then she began to work full-time as a pharmacist. The spontaneity between us began to diminish. After she met Richard, her future husband, late in 1991 or early 1992, her congeniality became more practiced than real. Richard had nothing to do with the change; other circumstances brought this about.

After Parents and returned from Turkey on Sep. 2, 1992, this time permanently, Parents moved into the basement apartment of Femsi home. Father needed dialysis treatments and Mother wanted the reassurance of being with one of her children. Indeed, my sisters and I had informally agreed on such a plan and we had been already implementing it since the end of 1980 when I returned from Saudi Arabia. After Father retired on July 11, 1978, he became aware that his finances, taxes, and pension were in a messy state. Parents did not know how much they had for retirement, what to do about some of their suspicions vis-a-vis the clinic where Father worked, whom to trust, etc. It took me until May 1981 to untangle the mess. Indeed, the months I spent straightening out Father's finances may have been the most substantive effort we did for Parents since then, because it insured their financial independence for the rest of their lives. In exchange, Parents gave their Mazda Rx7 to me, primarily because they spent about 8 months in Turkey then and used my home as their base when they were in the States from 1982 to 1985. So I got the car by default.

Then, in Oct. 1981, I drove all the way from California to prepare our home in Waynesburg for sale. Gülhis and I spent two days taking an inventory of our belongings, which we donated to the Salvation Army. We sent Femsi and Gary a receipt for $2,500 as their equal share of the donation. After I received the check from the sale, I sent Gary and Femsi a check for $20,000 as a gift from Parents. After I moved into my home In La Jolla on April 1, 1982, Parents stayed with me for 2 to 3 months. Then they spent about a month with Gülhis and visited Femsi for a week or two before they returned to Turkey. They did not want to stay longer at Femsi's place, because Gary had the coarse habit of yelling at Femsi in front of them.

In 1985, when Femsi, Gary, and the kids came to Turkey, Parents paid for most of their jet-set vacation, including the cruise on the Mediterranean. After I left California in 1985, Parents stayed mostly with Gülhis and again only two or three weeks with Femsi. I contributed by flexibility, for example by flying immediately to Turkey whenever there was an emergency, which was often enough from 1989 to 1992 when Father had his stroke and was ill. Now Parents would move in with Femsi, and spend about four months with Gülhis, because Femsi had a three-story town house with an empty basement apartment and Gülhis and I did not. Be as it may, after 12 years of free ride, this was the first time Femsi had the opportunity to do her share for Parents.

Endings, Debra. In view of this background, the unfortunate conversation Debra initiated with me on a spring morning in 1993 effectively ended our relationship, though I never told so to Debra. I let the relationship fizzle on its own. By then Femsi's home had become a center of activity. Now that Parents were staying with Femsi, I came more often and stayed overnight on many visits. Debra had completed her degree at WVU and was a full-time pharmacist, staying with Femsi. Glen came on some weekends and during school breaks. However, the house was rarely crowded. Parents and I stayed in the basement and Glen spent most of his time locked his in his room on the third floor. Therefore, for most of the time, Femsi and/or Debra were in the living room on the second floor, when they were not at work. Often when I came to see Parents, the house was eerily empty.

By 1993, I did not really like to be at Femsi's place. It was clear that my effort to make friends with Debra and Glen would not succeed, indeed it might be backfiring. They were not so predisposed. Glen was generally in his brooding mood, though sometimes he was willing to start a conversation. Otherwise, my exchanges with him were rudimentary, perhaps just polite. My visits served another purpose. Mother is the most sociable person in our family. Since Father was on dialysis and had health problems, he was rarely in a talkative mood. Femsi worked long hours and Debra lived her own life. When Glen was at home from WVU, he did come downstairs to talk to Parents, but otherwise Mother was alone and lonely. I came to keep her company.

So on a spring morning in 1993, I was alone in the kitchen, when Debra came. Without much ado, she threw a hint, that my parents would be much happier if they found an apartment for themselves where they could have privacy, or something like that. I did not respond, appalled by the ramifications of what she was saying. Did this mean that when Femsi was old and in need Debra would tell her mother to find an apartment? After all, we were in "individualistic" America and this is what she was proposing about Femsi and her parents. And if she could be so blunt with me about my parents, her grandparents, an act that I found totally inappropriate, how did she discuss these matters in private with my sister? Now the negative vibes I was getting at Femsi's home also made sense. There was poison in the air.

Debra probably justified this rudeness to herself and her mother as fighting for her mother's rights. She was not. Like her father, she was being coarse. She did not even have her facts straight. While her father had walked all over her mother for 27 years and then deserted his family, this family had stood by her mother through thick and thin for 50 years. Moreover, Parents had prepaid Femsi, and her father, more than $25,000 in gifts. Surely this entitled them to some consideration. When this conversation was taking place, Parents had lived there less than 6 months. A few weeks later, we sold our home in Istanbul and Parents gave each one of us $30,000, dividing Femsi's share equally between Femsi, Debra, and Glen. A year later, Parents paid Femsi $8,000 for the bathroom Femsi built in the basement, which Parents used only about a year. Meanwhile, Mother paid Femsi at least $600 every month for expenses, effectively as rent. Mother purchased the groceries for themselves but often also for Femsi's household which included Debra. This did not include $20 here and $50 there gifts to Debra and Glen along the way, and Debra's wedding present 6 months later. For Debra to complain about the presence of grandparents of this caliber was irresponsible. Indeed, by the time Parents moved in with me on Sep. 14, 1995, they had effectively paid Femsi nearly $100,000 (since 1981). So during the last three years when Gary was looking out for himself, with Femsi's consent and Debra and Glen serving as witnesses, Parents were making up to my sister the sums she willingly squandered. Debra had expressed no concern for her mother's rights then.

Moreover, life was unpredictable enough. It did not make sense for people, or their children for them, to arbitrarily cut the few true bonds they made along the way. Parents would not desert Femsi regardless of what Femsi did or Debra said. But my sister, who loved her children very much, might be influenced by what they told her. To be sure, Femsi would discard such thoughts about her parents. This is probably why Debra decided to undercut her mother and talk to me. That Debra would initiate something so consequential on an arbitrary whim dumbfounded me. Ultimately Femsi could depend on us more than her offsprings, always. Her children had grown up in America where people often neglected parents and barely kept in touch with brothers and sisters. Debra would soon leave home and live her own life. Since both Femsi and Debra worked, they would see each other only occasionally. For instance, what if my sister bombed another marriage a few years later and needed company and help? We would be there a lot sooner than Debra or Glen, and we would stay with her as long as she needed us.

So underneath the endearing smiles and Turkish-Italian warmth, our little Debra, now a young woman, was harboring unwholesome feelings about us. I wondered if Debra had the makings of being a friend to my sister in the first place. She seemed capable only of throwing in haphazard opinions as advice. Be as it may, it was also inexcusable for Femsi for not telling her daughter outright to keep her mouth shut about her parents, brother, and sister. If I had been in Femsi's place, I would have told my daughter "I am terribly disappointed in you; I do not want to hear such talk again."

Indeed, this episode made me think of my daughter Belinda. She was more daring than Femsi's entire family put together. And her education had ended with only a GED. Yet she would have never interfered in anything between my sisters and me, and certainly not against her grandparents. If there was a gripe, she would have told me about it, leaving it to me to discuss the matter with my parents, sisters, or friends. I had contributed to these results by spending only a few sporadic years raising Belinda, while Femsi and Gary had raised their children to adulthood. I did not pull Belinda aside and told her to be respectful of my sisters. This would have been artificial or forced. Instead, when I talked about my sisters, even their husbands, I did it in such a tone that Belinda, my wives, and friends clearly understood these were special people. My quarrels, differences, and antagonisms with them, if any, were not anyone's business but mine. So Judy, Belinda, and Gayle all related to my sisters and their families amiably and courteously, knowing that otherwise they would have offended me. These were universal guidelines of family etiquette, even in America where "upbringing" was frequently an exercise left to children. Femsi and Gary had raised their children to be achievers. This pleased me, for the country needed such citizens, and they would also contribute to my Social Security and Medicare. Otherwise their upbringing lacked.

After their wedding on Aug. 28, 1993, Debra and her husband got their own place in Fairfax. Femsi called to ask me to help them move. The absurdity of her request hit me immediately. She was asking her 50-year-old brother to help her kids to move, when, judging from the wedding, the "kids" had enough friends to move the entire building, or when they could have paid someone a nominal sum to do this. I would not have asked Femsi to ask her kids to help me move, because I had these ties to Femsi, not to her kids. I came anyway but as a personal favor to myself. Having spent 7 years next to my computer, I welcomed any external impetus to exercise. Gary came briefly and left and Glen helped to Debra. Debra's husband and I did most of the heavy work. After that, Debra and I interacted superficially or formally, on occasions when we saw each other at Femsi's place. However, I found the opportunity to tell her why I helped, in case she thought I was a fool like her mother. Soon after that Debra and her husband moved to Tennessee, then elsewhere. That was the end of my friend Debra.

Femsi, 2nd Thoughts. Femsi and I could discuss any subject with all guards down. However, to me this was not a reliable yardstick of the true status or quality of a relationship. People on talk shows in America did the same, yakking about the intimate details of their lives to total strangers. I considered asking a favor always the more foolproof measure, as I had done with Gary about the car, which he had rejected. So in Oct. 1993, I asked Femsi for a favor. Actually, this was also intended as much as a favor for Femsi.

I had finished my work and was considering other territories to start anew, but not for the sake of moving. My apartment in Washington could not accommodate Parents. I thought I should get a nice place at a different part of the country so that Parents could divide their time among us and enjoy a different environment too. Since Father was not feeling well, this would give Mother a chance to have a little adventure, and Femsi would have a break. I knew she was looking for a new husband or companion. She would have the privacy to initiate something, build on it, have a vacation, or just relax. I thought Corpus Christi would be a suitable place; it looked good on the map.

The only thing that concerned me about the move was my bulletin board. It had been on-line since 1990. I could not interrupt the board indefinitely, because the work I had done for the last 7 years was on it and I had many callers. So I asked Femsi if it would be OK for me to bring it and a few other things to her place, into the basement apartment. I would get rid of most of my stuff and store a suitcase or two with her. And I sent three suitcases to Gülhis. The bulletin board would serve another purpose. I had lived with Parents longer than my sisters and I was also best of friends with Mother. The bulletin board was a way for me to be with them even when I was away. Mother was fascinated with the way the computer and the board responded silently to the calls, all activity showing on the screen. This would feel almost like a card or letter from me when I was away. Mother and Femsi knew how to restart the board if the system failed.

When I suggested to Femsi that I wanted to leave some things with her, at first Femsi seemed willing. But soon her tone changed. She started dropping hints like "why do you keep this; I don't need/want that; well, I can use a copier," etc. as if to say that things she could not use she did not want in her home. I do not ask people for favors for whom I would not do the same. In 1979, when Gary and Femsi were in Hawaii and their divorce seemed imminent, I had written to Mother from Riyadh to tell Femsi not to worry, that I could send her $1,500 every month until she got on her feet. This was not a loan; it was a brother helping out his sister in dire times. That I was now asking my sister to store a few things for me did not seem an outrageous request to me. Had our situation been reversed, I would have volunteered the entire basement apartment to her.

I felt that Femsi's children, probably Debra, had something to do with the way my sister was behaving toward me. They had seen their father take advantage of their mother. Now they were training her to be assertive, as if being assertive for the sake of it was an achievement. Or they were reminding their mother to observe the "Uncle Sirman" restriction their father had placed on me. Perhaps it was even simpler than that: they were injecting their poison into their mother. So Femsi was being assertive about a few things I wanted to leave, when a little assertiveness in her marriage may have caught Gary's respect, salvaged her marriage, and saved her much aggravation all along. As I saw it, she was being assertive too late and with the wrong person. I was not challenging her, had not caused her unhappiness; I was only asking a favor, a temporary one at that. I thought my sister should have been assertive with her children for interfering in her dealings with us.

Another realization disturbed me even more. In 1991, when Femsi and Gary were going through their divorce, they paid $295,000 for a property, supposedly as a joint investment. Gary was going to renovate the house and sell it at a profit, sharing it with Femsi. I advised my sister against it, though I knew that Femsi would not refuse Gary. Later when I saw the house, I thought they had paid too much for it. Then, real estate values dropped. Still, Gary spent about six months and an additional $30,000, some of it Femsi's money, for building by himself a bathroom in every room and doing other things that did not need done. By 1993, Femsi faced the loss of her share, $35,000 to $42,000, which she would have received in cash, had she followed my advice. Then Gary moved to Tennessee and Femsi was burdened with the upkeep of the property. This while she worked 40 to 60 hours per week, took care of Parents, and prepared for Debra's wedding, for which she paid the entire sum, about $14,000. A year after the divorce, she also absolved Gary from alimony payments. In 1985, my sister had been as generous to a person she barely knew.

So I had a problem of reconciliation. If these guys deserved this kind of generosity for stepping on her, her stingy response to me conveyed that I ranked somewhere between a mortal enemy and nobody. And this time Gary was not there, except by proxy: Debra and Glen. Nevertheless, Femsi had been my sister for 50 years. If she was going to sell me out to someone like Gary or his agents, even after being dumped by him, then it was time for me to take a second look at my sister. On the surface, she was amiable and dutiful, but these were facts too.

I was also in my periodic housecleaning mood. Having finished my work, I was getting rid of the accumulated clutter in the apartment, and a few in my life. Sharon was already out since Aug. 17, 1992, as also my daughter Belinda since Jan. 3, 1989. In view of my unusual background, this was not an arduous process for me. I had left friends from my Samsun days, Istanbul days, Trier days, WVU days, DC days, Riyadh days, etc. Since I was independent, I had the rare luxury of defining my immediate environment. This meant I did not keep people around me because they were there or I might need them. I had only one requirement, a basic one: I had to feel good in their presence, enjoy being around them, be able to trust them. This usually happened only with people who felt the same way about me. This is how people enriched themselves through the quality of their bonds. In contrast, bonds that lacked quality, especially in one's close proximity, could be the worst clutter around a person, like Femsi's marriage. I especially avoided bitchy people and those on ego trips. And I did not like phony individuals. Of course, I would not arbitrarily discard a sister, but by definition "my sister" implied "my brother." If at age 50 my sister was still not sure what this meant, then I did not need a phony sister who thought she can get by through superficial gestures.

Endings, Glen. Although he seemed ambivalent about me, Glen was a warm person, when he was not brooding. But he was also more complex, probably wrestling a few demons in him. For a young man in his early 20s, he had strange habits: he did not date, had no friends, spent most of his time in his room, and cooked his own "healthy" meals. And every time he returned from Tennessee, he needled Mother with conservative parables and homey maxims of logical flaccidity he borrowed from his father. Femsi worried about him and expressed her concerns to me. I defended Glen, mentioning that he was a special person, that she should not judge him by the norm. Of course, I was being diplomatic but also allowing for the possibility that Glen was a "late bloomer." I had been one myself, though our personalities were entirely different.

In the summer of 1994, I was frequently downstairs, using my sister's telephone line on my laptop to test the computer with my bulletin board. All boards hang sometimes, when a caller does something unusual, etc. When this happened at my apartment, I was there to restart the system. But since I was leaving soon, I wanted to make certain that I anticipated most of the "unusual" causes, although Femsi and Mother knew how to restart the thing. So for about 30 minutes, two or three times on some days, I tested the board using Femsi's line on my laptop's modem. When Femsi and/or Glen were at home, I notified them that the telephone would ring once before the board picked up the call.

On Aug. 3, 1994, Femsi was at work and Glen had taken Mother to shopping. I dialed my bulletin board. Just then, Mother and Glen returned and Glen rushed to the phone. The telephone had rung only once. He could have asked me if I was on the phone. Instead he heard the screeching sound of two modems connecting. He could have hung up then, realizing what it was. But his disconnected demeanor around me for the last few days had alerted me to the possibility that he was brewing for something, though I did not expect this to happen then.

Glen started screaming. I thought something happened to Mother and ran up the stairs. He rudely reprimanded me in front of Mother that I had no right to use their telephone for my purposes, his manners and words entirely out of proportion to the invented offense. I listened calmly, wondering if this pathetic walk-on of life would ever know how fortunate he was that his grandmother was there. By the time I came to my apartment, I was feeling bad for Femsi. This guy could develop serious problems. He and Debra had quarreled since childhood, so much so that Debra still uttered a vehement "I hate him" occasionally. His father yelled at him for acting weird; his mother did not know what to do with him. A year earlier, his roommate at WVU had kicked his ass, probably because Glen got smart with him. Now this uncalled-for wacky tirade . . . A few months later, Glen called me at my apartment and wanted to apologize, smitten by deep remorse. I was gentle with him, concluding our brief talk with the remark that by habit I avoided certain types of people that also included him. I wished him Merry Christmas and that was the end of "Nephew" Glen.

Husband #2. Having bombed with Gary, Femsi wanted her next guy to be a defensible choice. Then she found him: Dale H., a high school teacher who was still married, with a teenage boy and a girl. Well, this did not seem like the right choice to me, but Femsi assured me that he was unhappily married, that he would be divorcing his wife soon. I was not inclined to take my sister's word about this. So Femsi arranged a meeting between the two of us, to have our man-to-man talk. She went shopping so that Dale and I could chat privately.

We talked casually for about an hour, unfortunately also bringing out the intimate details of his relationship with his wife. I had carefully skirted areas of intimacy, to avoid offending him. But Dale kept answering me as if I were his psychologist. To make it short, she had started going out on him openly soon after their wedding, that she had been living with someone else, coming home occasionally, that he had been waiting for a chance like Femsi for years. I had not anticipated the embarrassing details and felt guilty after our session. It was bad enough to be burdened with a cheating wife for 16 years without also having to talk about it to a total stranger. I was angry with Femsi for casting me in this inconsiderate role, for had our situation been reversed, I would have told him to remind his own business.

Although Femsi read books and magazines, she seemingly felt no social conscience. Indeed, like Father, she did not express views or beliefs about anything. We knew that she would never condone injustice; however, having lived with Gary and his quick opinions for 27 years, Femsi now practiced what was expedient in her marriage: "keep your thoughts to yourself." So after her children and work, Femsi's life revolved around soap operas and which commode, tiles, wallpaper, or "thing" she should replace next in her home, doing all the work by herself. I had pointed this out to her on several occasions, that she should pursue also substantive interests, now that Gary was not around to tempt her with things like "let's fix the roof."

On the other hand, years of submissiveness had also left my sister without thoughts on issues. This surfaced soon after she met Dale. Femsi was mesmerized with him, saying things like "I never met anyone so sure of himself and his beliefs." I decided to scrutinize Dale by initiating random conversations. This was not easy, for he was a "guns are good for America" type of archconservative with whom I shared very little. My last conversation with him illustrated this also to Gülhis. She was visiting and we were all in Femsi's living room. Something triggered a discussion about black people. Dale said that blacks had a lower mental capacity and limited intelligence. I asked him how he could justify his claim in view of people like Dr. King and Jesse Jackson. He agreed these men were exceptional, but only by black standards and thanks to their "white" education. I let that pass and asked him about Colin Powell. Of course, he found the general very capable and intelligent, but he asked why I brought up Colin Powell since he was a white person.

I ended the conversation politely, after a few scattered comments, to allow Dale to save face. Had I stopped abruptly, his last comment would have dangled, marking him for what he was: an uneducable and opinionated redneck. Every black person I had befriended since I arrived in America had been at least as intelligent as this guy, but he thought himself superior. The source of discrimination in America: infected minds arbitrarily decided some people were inferior, and made this into a law. Moreover, Dale was the typical educated but illiterate person, like Gary. He kept in touch with current events through headlines. The coverage under the headline did not interest him, for he could fill each headline with his feelings, notions, and opinions. Hell, this was the easiest way of being sure.

I was more disturbed by the fact he was a teacher at an inner-city high school where black students probably made up more than half the student body. He seemed a decent sort of fellow who would not bring his views to the classroom, but the idea of people like him serving as teachers dismayed me. Many students who graduated from inner-city schools came out practically illiterate. I wondered if teachers like Dale gave black students a "B" in English for spelling "Shakespeare" correctly, because they thought this was already an achievement for them.

The icing on the cake came soon after the episode with Colin Powell. We were in Femsi's basement apartment, and my sister, Dale's daughter, and Parents were there. I was showing them a scanned image of Femsi on the computer, pointing out that I found her very attractive. Out of the blue, Dale said "you are not big enough," supposedly to mean that I was not big enough to challenge him about Femsi. I let that pass. But then he repeated the words, just in case I did not hear him. So he was not using casual speech; this high school teacher was throwing his big weight around. Somewhat amused, I wondered what this Vietnam vet would do if I went upstairs, grabbed two steak knives, came down, gave him one, and invited him to Femsi's backyard to show me. Of course, I did not. And I also did not speak out the first response that came to me: "is this what you told to the Vietnamese before they kicked your ass?" I bit my tongue and mumbled instead "I am big enough for her."

Actually two things stopped me from also being rude. Having told me about the intimate details of his marriage only a week ago, now this blank slate wanted to regain his composure by the only asset he thought he had at his disposal: lots of beef. OK, I owed him one. The other realization was more consequential. Men do not normally challenge the brother of the woman they court when there was no provocation. Had my sister spoken about me in such a way that Dale thought it was safe for him to be rude to me? Although Femsi probably admonished him later, telling him not to do this again, I sensed this is what Femsi had done.

Endings, Femsi. Then came the last straw, and this time it involved a principle I held dearly: dignity. Early in 1989, I had told my sister something that was obviously for her ears only. Similarly, in the fall of 1985, she had shared with me a vignette from her life that would have qualified for the National Inquirer. She had then instructed me not to divulge the story to anyone, especially her children. This was understood, for I let people tell their own story, unless telling it served a higher purpose than gossip.

One day, in the summer of 1994, Femsi told me that a week ago she had shared my story with Debra and Glen, probably the last two people on earth who should have heard it. This fool then described proudly how understanding and "adult" her children had taken it. I could care less about how they had taken it; I was aghast that my sister had sold me out. If they were so understanding and adult, she could have discussed her own stories with them, not mine. And I suspected that she had also passed on the gossip to Dale. Being so overwhelmed by his intellect, she probably thought she should find something rigorous enough for his superior mind, catch his attention with "I know something interesting too." This while my sister preserved her dignity by keeping the juicy details of her story, all true, from them.

A scatterbrain or a blabbermouth, which Femsi can be despite her acute mind, would have told both stories, but Femsi had scandalized me but not herself. No one but Femsi (in the family) would do something like this. When I told to Mother, she was outraged, also Gülhis, and even Mike. In 1965, we felt Femsi had sold us out to Gary's family. Now this, 30 years later. Apparently this is how Femsi bonded to people to whom she felt really close, saying in effect "look, you are so precious to me that I will even smear my brother to you."

Finally, I listened to the voice of the colloquial American wisdom I had been hearing for some time: "if you stay around pigs, don't be surprised if you find yourself smelling like one." I did not need a quasi sister who thought she was being sisterly enough for inviting me to Christmas dinner and the like. On Sep. 28, 1994, I collected my stuff in her house. I was going to call a cab, but Femsi suggested that she would drive me. When we arrived at my apartment, Femsi opened the rear door of her car and my round mirror rolled out and broke into pieces. Apparently even superstition supported my decision. At 2:20 p.m., I discarded my sister.

I talked to my friend Ken in San Diego and told him about the situation with the bulletin board and the rest. Ken said "what's the big deal; ship the thing here; I'll get a number and hook it up myself." Hallelujah, finally the voice of a friend. At 9:55 a.m. EDT on Oct. 8, 1994, I started my bulletin board from San Diego. On Oct. 19, I came to Gülhis, to finish the scanning of the family photos, and to visit with Ken. I returned to Washington on Nov. 18 and began to contemplate my next habitat. Soon I would know it would be Miami Beach, that unlike Corpus Christi from Jan. 11 to Feb. 2, 1994 it would be the right place.

The situation between Femsi and me hurt Mother very much at first. Over the years, she had been the catalyst who held the family together. Early in 1995, when I was still in Washington, Femsi and Dale sired a marriage. I did not attend the tryst, not even as a favor to Parents. It made sense that these two would want to hold on to each other like a kudzu vine to a tree. (The experience with Femsi, following my relationships with Belinda and Sharon in the 1980s, prompted this volume on "Love and Impurities.")

Gülhis and I. Unlike Femsi and me, Gülhis was quiet and reserved when she was growing up in our shadow. Except for Mother, who had her hands full veiling from Father the mischief Femsi and I got into, none of us really understood my little sister. Femsi and I were active and we did not take the time to find out what made Gülhis tick, though we grew up together and she was included in almost all our activities. As a child, she did not play mom to dolls and did not imagine family stories. She cut photos of movie stars from newspapers and magazines and acted scenes with them that were real to her. She observed, perceived, retained, and drew sketches. In Germany she played with her friend Rita and a few other girls. She also had friends in Weston, but only one in Waynesburg. Early in the 1960s, I noticed that every so often she was especially moody. It took me some time to comprehend that her moodiness coincided with her monthly cycles, which were apparently difficult. Extremely proud, Gülhis did not initiate things with others, for fear of rejection. But she responded warmly when others approached her. She may have envied Femsi and me for our devilish ways, but she knew she did not have our provocative personality.

Gülhis became a friend when I was in my 20s, after I underwent a metamorphosis of sorts. In my early teens, I was an extrovert. But already in 1954 or so, when I was in school in Istanbul, I began to crawl into my shell periodically, to sort out my experiences and impressions. Indeed, I could actually feel myself as my own double yet separate entity. Always daring and mischievous, the consequences of my actions were getting more serious. I felt compelled to take an inventory of my life. So the introverted side of me gradually emerged and found a soul mate in Gülhis. For me, the bond became official while we were at WVU in the summer of 1966, when I was 24, Gülhis 19. That is, during the same 21 years when I would see Femsi only occasionally, I bonded as a friend to my other sister.

The process began when my girlfriend Judy announced that she was pregnant. I had met her as a blind date at the Lock Haven State College in the winter of 1965. My friend Dominic's girlfriend had fixed us up. She was 5-feet-7, had shoulder length blond hair, and looked like the twin sister of Bo Derek. I was renting a room at a fraternity house then and viewed the university as a hunting ground for girls, living life all out. People who knew me, including a few instructors, called me the "Wild Turk." After meeting Judy, I drove Father's Chrysler to Lock Haven every weekend. Judy was beautiful and I wanted to be with her, listening to the "You have that Lovely Feeling" that had just come out. But once the novelty wore off, I noticed a few characteristics about Judy that left me wanting. She was a wonderful listener but did not have much to say. I felt flattered at first that she seemingly made a mental note of every word I spoke, but eventually it dawned on me this girl was too quiet for my taste. Yet, my instincts told me this was a special person.

In the summer of 1966, Judy left for Ocean City, NJ and accepted a summer job as a waitress. I came to visit with her for a day and we spent the night together. A month later she announced that she was pregnant. Things somehow did not add up. Janet, my former girlfriend from Wheeling, and I had dated from the fall of 1962 to late 1964. I had been careful with her, as I had been with Judy. It seemed this pregnancy happened too readily. After a few days of persistent questioning Judy divulged her secret. The night after I left her in Ocean City, she had met a Jim W. and slept with him. She did not know if the baby was mine or his. Judy's parents, a retired state policeman and his wife from Altoona, were in a state of shock about her situation. Judy cried constantly when we spoke on the phone. So unless I married her, Judy's would go to a home for unwed mothers. The baby would be taken from her. I felt sorry for Judy, but I was also realistic: I was in no position to contemplate marriage.

The fact that Judy had slept with someone else did not disturb me, not even her attempt to lie about it. This in itself was already quite a progress, for I was from a culture in which girls came as virgins to marriage. Most bridegrooms insisted on this and a man could divorce his wife by law if she was not a virgin. The majority of men and their families especially in the countryside still observed this norm. But already when I was in Germany, I began to understand life's ironies. I could conceive how even a whore could be "cleaner" and more decent than some virgins, depending on what one evaluated, the body or the personality and soul. So the virginity or the sexual history of my prospective mate was not an issue. The hindrance was in me: I was not yet responsible enough for marriage, and Judy was too quiet for me.

These were the circumstances when I called and asked Gülhis to join me at the White House cafe near the dorms. Femsi was closer by age, but for some reason, perhaps because she was preparing for her wedding, I chose Gülhis. Or I knew instinctively that Gülhis was the more appropriate person to discuss this type of problem, for Femsi was impulsive like me. I explained my feelings to my sister. Gülhis listened and said "marry her."

I did, in Oakland, MD, in the company of my sisters and about a dozen friends. It was a Saturday and there was home football game. Femsi and Gülhis served as Judy's maid of honor, Dominic as my best man. A preacher declared us man and wife, and all of us raced back to the football game. The marriage turned out to be one of my better decisions. At least I became responsible in school. If the marriage did not work out, it was also partly due to my personality: I was too restless then and felt imprisoned.

Intuition. When we were growing up, Mother used to startle us by saying "içime do_du" (literally "it was born to me," implying "I felt or sensed") something. Some of her premonitions came true, some did not, others we could not verify. I have them in this form, intuitively and instinctively, whereas Gülhis experiences hers also in dreams and vision-like clairvoyant moments. I am not sure of the variety Father feels. They seem like ominous projections made under depression, because I can remember only a few happy predictions from Father.

Gülhis is intuitive and impressionable. She receives vibes incessantly, but interprets them somewhat according to her mood. Occasionally she has strong premonitions, which all of us, except Femsi, have in varying degrees. However, it seems that these "psychic" or receptive periods come in cycles, even to people who are inherently this way. (Thus, we are not convinced that even true psychics, if there is such a thing, are always--i.e., perpetually--psychic.) And like dreams, premonitions and vibes do not easily lend themselves to proof. Often we are not sure if we have imagined, hallucinated, or actually received vibes. Some things come true, some do not. Sometimes the vibes are about people we knew in the past. We have no idea why we would dream about, or receive vibes from, someone from 20 years ago, when we had not thought about this person for 20 years. Perhaps like mood swings, something triggers a chemical reaction in the brain that activates a dormant memory cell, bringing to life this person from 20 years ago. This still leaves many other inexplicable experiences.

Gülhis and I are similar in many respects, including our creativity, imagination, and the instinctive and intuitive way we interact with our environment. Femsi demonstrated a high IQ at an early age. Gülhis and I were late bloomers in that we had a strong abstract, imaginary, and emotional content. The profile of what we were about did not emerge as clearly as that of a pragmatic person. We needed time to sift through our beings to gain occasional glimpses at our emerging personalities. The inkling of who we were and what we wanted to do with our lives came much later. Therefore, when we were growing up, we seemed unfocused, dreamy, romantic, metaphysical. Moreover, my devil-may-care personality may have exacerbated the ongoing inner process of sifting through myself. But eventually things began to fall in place. I watched myself develop into a paradox of sorts, an introverted extrovert, or extroverted introvert. And there was a long period when, like the butterfly that emerges from a caterpillar, I could not decide which personality fit me better. In time, I decided they both did, though sometimes I struggled with the cycles, like acting clumsily extroverted when I felt introverted and aloof, or vice versa.

In view of my training in mathematics, engineering, and economics, my "wandering" mind gradually acquired an analytical focus and, I thought, excellent deductive reasoning. They blended well with my strong intuition. I could conceive huge projects and also had the tools to handle the details, very methodically. Gülhis probably underwent a similar process, though she did not have the personality conflict. Eventually she began to define and express herself through all forms of art. Now she is surrounded by the sculptures, paintings, and drawings she did over the years, together with Michael's studio-quality photographic equipment, framed photographs, Cavit's musical instruments, and all sorts of art material, books, magazines, and plants and decorations.

Gülhis began to display superior common sense at a relatively early age. As we reached adulthood, I decided that because of her cautious ways, my sister seemed more sensible. In my case, because of my "adventurous" personality, I did not always choose the sensible path, though I knew better. I noticed other similarities. Both of us needed to have our space periodically, to sort our experiences, impressions, feelings, and thoughts. We liked intellectual and metaphysical subjects and thrived around amiable friends, chatting about timeless topics. I followed current events as meticulously as Mother; Gülhis much less, because she was so busy with Cavit and her classes. However, unlike Femsi, she felt strongly about social issues, about which she was vociferous. There were also differences. Like Mother, Gülhis was always refined, gentle, and adroit in social interaction, whereas I could readily jump from the book of etiquette to the street, occasionally with my foot in my mouth.

However, there is a common denominator in all of us. By our Turkish upbringing, we refrain from being rude and inconsiderate; we are courteous and helpful, especially to older people. Traits like assertiveness, rudeness, bitchiness, ego trips, and attempts to gain at other people's expense are seen as signs of personality disorder in Turkish culture. We practice strength through tolerance, courtesy, resolutions, convictions--not blind opinions--and deeds, quietly and (we try) with dignity, as in "silent strong."

Karma at work. Over the years, Gülhis and I spent hours on the phone discussing her predicament and all sorts of other subjects. Although my sister suffered from loneliness and isolation, she also sympathized with her husband's situation, that he had to be on the road constantly, and in all weather. She understood that to endure the realities of his job, Michael had to suppress his emotions, irrespective of his native personality. Obviously some people were better attuned to certain careers, presumably because they had more of the necessary personality ingredients already in them. Gülhis knew she had chosen a decent and responsible man as her husband. But perhaps already in the mid-1970s, she pondered about their compatibility, rather if their lifestyle and circumstances would allow them to become compatible. Mike differed from my sister in that he lacked her sense of adventure, variety, and passion for things. He was driven by his need for financial security; monotony was not a word in his vocabulary.

From the beginning, Gülhis had hoped that they would have enough savings some day to start a studio together. They would paint and live the life of carefree artists, regardless of the financial consequences. She did not need lots of money to be happy and knew that we would support her if she needed backing. Soon after they arrived in California, Gülhis probably sensed that studio-life was out. She had nurtured a contingency hope. Since she was introverted, she depended on Mike to introduce her to some of his many contacts, so that at least she would bloom as an artist among other artists. The fact that my sister would flourish in such an environment we did not doubt. She was a sincere and warm person and had considerable talent; her students loved her. However, this too did not happen. Michael was constantly on the road and too exhausted to help her pursue her dream, or too sober to believe in it. So disappointments and years of isolation and loneliness eventually took their toll. Gülhis hardened.

Karma may mold a person's life in two ways. Some of life's changes are triggered by horary events, like Father's stroke at 4:00 a.m. on Dec. 5, 1989 in Istanbul. A car accident or winning the lottery is also in this realm. Such events abruptly catapult a person to a new track, marking a shift in life's path. Most other changes happen as a result of ongoing processes that have no definitive beginning or end, like a divorce. These types of changes are analogous to movements on the same path, like graduation, marriage, career, children, retirement, and all the predictable and unpredictable side shows that fill the gaps. One is aware of these gradual changes often in retrospect.

Since her marriage 21 years ago, Gülhis had worked very hard to become a recognized artist. However, she had given up, turned off by the politics in the art world and because her husband would not join her. She had tried to make friends, but to no avail because her neighbors had shunned her. She had thought of joining a group of artists, perhaps a workshop serving the movie studios, but this too had not materialized. In 1984, she had helped Gene, Mike's friend in Los Angeles, with commercial art for the studios. But these opportunities were not reliable. Moreover, her son depended on her and she was an hour from Los Angeles.

Like everyone, my sister had hoped for fulfillment and happiness, and a little luck. Yet she had not been able to find them in her American environment. On the other hand, after more than 30 years in this country, she was too conditioned to America to search for happiness elsewhere. My sister decided she was between a rock and a hard place, that she was pursuing two mutually-exclusive desires. Instead of relying on external stimuli for fulfillment, my sister decided to make the best of what she had. In other words, she decided to change her focus and redefine happiness. Despite the failures she had two major things going for her: her genius son and her part-time teaching position in college. She could depend on them to motivate her daily; the latter provided the social life and spontaneity she sought. In addition, she had made a few sometime friends. Things were not gloomy.

My sister's bitterness turned into stronger resolutions as she revised her priorities. She had worried that Cavit would suffer her predicament, for he had grown up without friends. For almost ten years she had guided him to use his time not staring at the walls or the TV but practicing on his computer and musical instruments. Now this investment was paying off handsomely. So the fact that Cavit had been shunned too was turning into an unexpected asset. Her son was doing so well in school that finally America began to glow in the way only America can. The school officials recognized they had a gifted child on their hands and fine-tuned his progress, with all the opportunities unique to schools in America. Like the mother (Melina Mercouri) in the movie "Promise at Dawn," Gülhis set out to plan the next phase of Cavit's evolution: to help him define and reach his dreams and potentials as a scientist, programmer, musician, or whatever her gifted boy decided. She pursued art not by painting but by teaching. The rapport she shared with her students meant even more now . . .

For years, Femsi had been the achiever in the family. Already in the 1970s, it was clear to us that while Femsi had been casual and scattered about her choices in life, Gülhis remained focussed. And she did not compromise her standards. There were times when her isolation induced my sister to lower her expectations, but she did not, partly because of her own insistence and in part because karma denied her the opportunity to deviate. So sometime in 1993, perhaps coinciding with the date (Sep. 2, 1992) when we left Turkey permanently, the cocoon around my sister dissolved and a new Gülhis emerged, an assertive and sober one.

My sister has not forgotten her previous incarnation and some bitterness still remains. She still complains about xenophobic Americans and robotic American lifestyle. And she continues to criticize her husband for devoting too many hours to his work. But now she gives him as much, or as little, attention as he does to her. Loneliness had driven her sometimes to chase trivial people as potential friends. Now she is angry with herself for having even thought of such shallow escapes, though Gülhis still responds warmly to people who are congenial to her. However, there is a significant difference. Now others have to make the first move, and she leaves this to their discretion. Her mood still fluctuates between glowing and listless.

Washington Days, 1972 to 1976. In 1973 and 1974, when Gülhis was deliberating her compatibility to her husband, in view of their circumstances, I was at the end of my second marriage. I too was immersed in "compatibility," vis-a-vis the environment in Washington. My second wife Gayle and I had been compatible in the relative innocence of Morgantown, but not in Washington. The hours we spent going to and from work, the way our jobs overlapped to evenings and weekends, the competitive environment, job insecurity, and other subtle and harsh variables whittled away our bond. A very fragile instrument of love, how could compatibility survive such severe assaults? Apparently other people were also aware of this dilemma. Gayle and I knew of several couples in Washington who gave up the rat race there for less-strenuous pastures elsewhere. I could not make such a choice, for I had lived in small towns since 1962. They did not suit me, ditto the suburbia around Washington.

I was not by chance in Washington. The petroleum engineering department at WVU did not have solid contacts in Houston where I might have secured an international position. Had I stopped my education after my master's in petroleum engineering, I might have doomed myself to second or third-rate oil companies in the boondocks. I continued to my master's in economics because I wanted to enhance my chances in Washington, Houston, New York, etc. So now I was in Washington. However, I started in the private sector, not in the Federal Government. Government employees lived a relatively stable life. They worked regular hours, enjoyed their weekends, and did not worry about getting fired. Once they were in, they could almost contemplate their retirement.

Already in 1974, I thought it was laughable for government workers to strive for "equal pay" with the private sector. Although I had a GS-15 rating in 1975, I would have gladly accepted a position at GS-11 level just to escape my predicament. And despite the relative luxury of their environment, the bureaucrats thought they were "tough" to survive in their arena. If their circumstances qualified as tough, ours had to be much more severe: hard and robotizing. This is what concerned me. I did not want to sacrifice my zest of life to this kind of success. The way up in my neighborhood was a mine field for any marriage. I thought Gayle and I could last until I found an opening with the Government. It did not happen. After my divorce early in 1974, the environment in Washington was the primary reason why I decided not to marry again, not while I was moving up on the ladder, and not in the private sector. The chance I awaited came instead from the Saudi Government. Then, it was just as well that I was not married.

I called Gülhis frequently from Oct. 14, 1973, when Gayle and I separated, to Feb. 22, 1976, when I left for Riyadh. We talked about my life in Washington, my feelings about a career in America; she talked about her deadbeat neighbors. Of course, my judgment was clouded by cynicism, though I did not think that therefore I was wrong. The professional environment in Washington, aside from doctors, lawyers, and service people, consisted of two sectors: Government employees, and consultants who made a living through Government contracts. I was in the latter group, with a consulting firm. My thesis was that the very competitive environment in Washington hardened people and eventually turned them into living robots. This is how it affected me. How did this happen? Many a night, as late as 9:00 p.m., 11:00 p.m., or 1:00 a.m., our team was in the office, completing a proposal or a final report, meeting one of many deadlines. We did the same on many Saturdays and sometimes on Sundays too. This when we could have used the evenings, weekends, and probably also Mondays to recuperate from the hassles of the week behind us. With each passing week, I felt I was sinking deeper.

This was not a happy environment, though, of course, sometimes we shared laughs, programmed laughs. Our jobs depended on successful proposals, on winning contracts. On the same evening when we were completing our proposal, many other consulting firms around the nation were finishing theirs for the same contract. If we did not win, the management had to shift us to other projects and pay us through them, whether or not we worked on these projects. They could do this for a short time only, and if there was room under other contracts. Eventually some people did not make it. Since no one knew who might be cut next, there was no such thing as job security. We had to endure, for the alternative was worse: looking for a similar position with another firm, then another, while bills piled up. It had to be a "similar" position, because this was the only "relevant experience" by which we could market ourselves in this arena of "specialists." People who lived in this gutter had to feel and behave like rats. No wonder Americans in major cities talked about their world in terms of "rat race, it is a jungle out there, dog-eat-dog," etc.

This was essentially servility in apparent luxury: white-collar slavery. The top echelon consisted mostly of former government workers who maintained contacts with former colleagues. Their friendships biased some contracts in our favor. For this they paid themselves handsome salaries, benefits, and stock options which we supported by hard sweat, while getting paid a nominal salary. Of course, we were also under a "legal" pension plan, but all of us knew the plan meant nothing for the first five or ten years. And some of these firms rarely lasted beyond the life span of the original founders. The owners would continue to flourish until they died, while we struggled and sacrificed all we had not to become expendable tools.

People who survived and advanced were capable, but they were also pragmatic and callous automatons. Underneath our fine clothes and superficially civil manners, we were like wild dogs after a gazelle, for ultimately only the survival instincts ruled in this arena. I knew this was not a good environment for me; yet, I had trained myself for this life. My primary concern was not if I could survive; I did. I was worried that I would continue to survive this way and, even worse, define happiness and success by these standards. To be sure, to survive and advance in this arena one had to be an achiever, though I was not sure of what. Happiness was not one of the byproducts, not for me.

"Consulting" had sounded exciting when I was at WVU. I had prepared the ideal - multidimensional - academic credentials for it. Now I was in a state of shock. I had volunteered to become an automaton among automatons who seemingly valued life only as an opportunity to work. Having completed 4 degrees, I knew I was not lazy, nor incompetent. But I also wanted to enjoy life, not at banal office parties, during stolen moments from job, or after I became an old man. Even the free time was not free. I had to attend to all sorts of mundane chores. There was never enough time to recuperate from work, to escape its spell. My soul was no longer mine.

The lunch breaks were dull chitchat sessions. We ate and talked primarily about work, one dull session providing a break for another. People consciously avoided being personal, though sometimes some guys became human, rolling their eyes when a nice pair of legs passed by us. This was advanced stuff for my teammates. If they peeked at all, they limited their glances only to the rear view, discretely. Of course, the women were aware they were being appreciated from behind. Some days some of them came in mini dresses. Sometimes they sat and crossed their legs in a way that showed glimpses of their panties. Even this delightful deviation from the monotony of work was part of the process of robotization. Discretion said I was to glue my eyes to her face and act as if I were above this. We were all professional people after all, whatever this meant. It was phony. Of course I looked, openly and directly but not lasciviously and not lingering on that part. And then I raised my eyes to hers to convey that I knew the color of her panties. I was not rebuked once. Indeed, this silent and instantaneous communication occasionally led to real sex. Be as it may, I noticed a change taking place in me. The ambiance from work was overlapping to my personal life, also to how I approached women. I spent a lot of time with them on my off hours, but there was no romance. They were my therapy, as, I guessed, I was theirs. I missed WVU, where dating had been zestful, not mundane.

Twenty-five years later, late in 1996, a scene on TV reminded me of my work environment in the 1970s. CNN had scheduled an interview with President Clinton while he was campaigning somewhere. The interview took place on a stage-like platform. Claire Shipman, whom I find sexier than Madonna, came in a mini skirt, sat on a high stool of all things, and crossed her legs several times, 10 feet away and right across from the President. If this was not a deliberate tease, I did not know a tease. The President probably enjoyed the panty show by peripheral vision, for he could not dare to look directly, although he was invited. Perhaps Ms. Shipman wanted to convey to the President that in those 10 minutes or so, she was even more powerful than him. For she was free also to be a woman, whereas he was not free to be a man, just a president. I thought women will be women, whether a whore or a topnotch TV correspondent. I was glad that the stressful environment in Washington had not confused me in the 1970s.

Usually the idea that I would be working on a proposal again the next day spoiled the evening and many weekends too. Finally, I changed my job and felt elated, for a while. No proposals this time, but now I knew the score. I was moving up on the success ladder but did not want to get there, not this way. This was not just a rude awakening; it was a cultural clash, while I was also going through the final stages of my second divorce. I had to redraw my career path. So I kept sending applications to the Government, to find a platform from which I could contemplate life's stream, to blend my past to a more suitable future. I applied also to Saudi Arabia and other countries, just in case America inherently lacked the opportunity I was seeking. After I moved from Silver Spring to the Dupont Circle, I had extra 30 minutes in the mornings and evenings, and I could walk to work. I savored this extension of my day until I forgot the time when I did not have it. There were clubs I could go to, where tired robots wasted time and money hoping to meet a tired robot. I listened to myself while my mouth said strange things. Apparently someone had been impressed, for I found a woman in my bed the next morning.

I observed the people around me. How long could they and their families tolerate these aphorisms of survival without losing their human qualities, or something? The profligate divorce rate in Washington, one of the highest in the nation, provided a clue. Sirman and Gayle were one of many in 1973; Femsi and Gary were one of many in 1990, as John and Jane Doe would be in 2010. Obviously the nasty conditions at work overlapped into private lives. These people were too smart not to know what was happening, but they continued, for they perceived no viable alternatives. They lived for their jobs, gambling with their marriages, relationships, romances. Always under pressure, they became crisis managers, also in their private lives. As long as their jobs was secure, they did not sense, or pay attention to, what they might be losing elsewhere until it was too late. One too many "honey, I've got to work this weekend."

The pressure happened in other ways too, in the form of failures, bad days, experiences with ugly bosses and unpleasant coworkers. There was no therapy for these. The effected people could not kick themselves, the walls, their bosses, colleagues. They took it out on their spouses and companions. They did this either directly, by an exaggerated response to a minor offense, an impatient or dismissive shrug, or indirectly by sacrificing quality time as a result of lost zest. Couples who began in love and holding hands hibernated in ennui.

Many of these marriages and relationships ended, but they were the tip of the iceberg. Others seemingly survived, but with escapades by one or both partners. By then, the robotic stage was advanced enough. The partners either did not care or came to terms with the affairs, unless they threatened the status quo. I dated a lot in this period, primarily single women and divorcees. Obviously, some of my dates were with someone's wife, a mother. So I did not want to be married, for the sake of being married, or perhaps to have a convenient sex life.

I thought the few intact marriages probably involved people with extra robotic genes. I did not presume to know enough about the details of such marriages, perhaps like the one between Bob and Elizabeth Dole, to pass judgment on them. But they seemed more like symbiotic and multipurpose partnerships and business allegiances. If so, they conflicted with my notions of how a man and woman should bond. Moreover, these types marriages did OK for people on or near the top. I was only an expendable peon struggling upward in the trenches. Gayle and I might have also succeeded if we had arrived in Washington like, for example, Al and Tipper Gore years later.

Be as it may, although Washington was an arena rich in "encounters," the environment did not strike me as romantic and zestful. So I risked being "immature" by the norms around me. For I did not want to become a hardened robot by my standards to qualify as "mature" by these standards. Given my personality, these were the only choices I perceived for myself. I decided that I would preserve my notions of romance by remaining single and dallying, thus substituting the illusion of romance for the real thing, hopefully without hurting someone's feelings. Apparently other people saw this choice as a viable alternative for themselves too, for this is how and why "relationships" eventually became much more common than marriages. Although I did not regard marriage as necessarily a superior bond, I knew my parents and many other people did. So, also as a courtesy to them, I did not demean the institution of marriage, as some married people did.

After I reached financial independence and returned from Saudi Arabia, marriage was again an option. However, this time other variables and my own reasoning interfered. Since it was too late to raise children, and the idea had no appeal for me, marriage was not essential. As for company, my computer, bulletin board, and many personal projects kept me mentally challenged. I did not need a companion for mental stimulus, but to share fun things. Then again, the idea of playing the same song and dance to another woman, just to form a steady relationship, seemed ridiculous and redundant. Even more important, I began to view "sex" as an overrated impetus for connecting to women. The time, energy, resources, and emotions men wasted chasing women, and vice versa, because some of them looked good, were sexy, etc., surely made sex to the greatest illusion. Perhaps I was getting old and wise, or I had been already with enough women to last a lifetime. But my reasoning also supported this view.

Physical attraction and the urge to do fun things came in cycles, like the urge to indulge in mental projects, to travel, etc. This meant that a companion was suitable only for the appropriate cycles. Otherwise, I was happy being alone, doing my things. In other words, I had been married, quasi married, and single long and often enough to know both sides of the story. Steady relationships did not come freely; they had an opportunity cost. And being with a companion also during the "wrong" cycles diminished romance probably as much as any other cause. This also explained why prostitutes, the ones who openly subscribed to that label, appealed to so many men. These guys, many of whom married, knew where to go when they were in a "horny" cycle. Since many people viewed sex as the ultimate goal of relating to a partner, there was no need for song and dance and playact in this world of brutal honesty. After a brief haggle about the price, the stage was set. Street pickups were too brutal (unromantic) for me and I did not like the idea of playing the sucker in bars and "adult" joints. I preferred to find my companions when I traveled, among my kind of (carefree) people. Indeed, sometimes karma brought such companions to my arms.

Of course, there were gaps. For example, being single, I did not always have a romantic companion with me when I felt romantic. These cycles were not as thrilling as when I was with a companion and everything was blooming. But they were also not as unhappy as when I was with a steady companion and things were withering. For me, my optimum solution came close to the ideal without the pollution. If Gülhis were in my situation, she would have probably contemplated the same variables and likely reached the same conclusion. Femsi would not, but perhaps only because she had to work for 15 more years before she reached my level of freedom. Because she was already tied, a husband fit her situation. I may have decided the same for me in her circumstances. In turn, I suspect that she would have chosen my way if she were in my shoes. So there seemed to be a universal wisdom to my way, as also to her way.

Yet, freedom was as fragile as compatibility. A change in circumstances, like falling in love, could alter everything and easily make a hypocrite of even a confirmed bachelor. "So what?" I thought. I was not on an ego trip, trying to prove something to myself, or following an urge to make my way the universal way. Like everyone, I was only trying to blend my lifestyle to my personality, background, and circumstances. If the circumstances changed, I would adapt.

Speaking of change, sometime in 1994, I became aware of a condition that had been in front of me for more than 20 years. Because I was single, I continued to relate to my sisters as my only family, as I had since we were children. It dawned on me that while my situation had not changed, theirs had: they had their own families. Therefore, they could no longer relate to me "the way we were," that it would be unfair of me to expect this. My experience with Femsi in 1994 drove this home. I felt obliged not to repeat the mistake with my other sister. So because freedom also meant releasing some bonds occasionally, like love, it was not entirely an enchantment. There would be some sadness associated also with being free, I concluded.

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3. Epilogue

Endings. Endings tell a lot about the true personality of the partners. This is the only time in the relationship when the partners can judge themselves and each other in true form. This is not a spurious exercise. If there is a chance for them to get back together, this is the time to make a mental note of this, to decide if the end of the relationship means a loss or a belated gain. At the end of a relationship, there is no need for either partner to project a favorable image. So artificial and selfish inducements are absent. At this stage, there is no romance, perhaps a trace of love. Each partner is loaded with disappointment, bitterness, hurt: excess baggage. Thus, as there is no reason to project a positive image, there is every reason not to go out of one's way to be pleasant. So when all ulterior motives for being pleasant are removed, the partner who is decent to his or her companion qualifies as a superior human being, a person of class: a rare thing.

When Gary decided on divorce, he could have said something like "Femsi our marriage is not working; I am not happy; now that the kids are grown up, I want to start a new life; I don't hold you responsible; somehow things did not work out, but thanks for the good times; I will be your friend; be well and good bye." After 27 years and two adult children, who were still at home, he could have said this. Instead, he became more quarrelsome, making an issue of everything. It was as if he wanted to prove to Femsi how unhappy he was, how frustrating she was, how very poisonous everything was, how divorce was the only viable option. And he could not miss this chance to be ugly one last time.

As if Femsi could not comprehend a simple announcement, Gary began a recital of how he cheated on her at every opportunity during the last ten years. Then, he became the outraged husband, holding Femsi responsible for his cheating ways, concluding with the implication that if she had been a proper wife, he would not have committed these infractions. This was Gary's version of the "you bring out the worst in me" accusation that is commonly used in America to sanitize built-in trash. To be sure, companions and spouses often did this to each other. On the other hand, Gary did not need external impetus. So on top of ugliness, he was also dumping a guilt trip on Femsi.

Gary's confession did not surprise anyone in the family. He was exiting Femsi's life in the same form he had entered it. That is, this stagnant guy had not matured an iota in almost 30 years. On the other hand, our family had survived as immigrants on three continents, leaving behind a country, family, friends, and memories. Gary thought he could defeat Femsi with a cheap shot. He achieved exactly the opposite, as Sharon did with me. Femsi reached a resolution not to allow this trash of a man to defeat her with low blows. Now she had a foolproof confirmation that by losing Gary she was finally achieving a major victory. Not against Gary, for he did not matter, but for the quality of the rest of her life. So almost immediately after Gary's confession, Femsi shoved aside her previous life, as we had done after Turkey and Germany, and began to look for a new man. After 27 years with a charade, this time she wanted a decent man. All right, Dale was not my type, but he was good to Femsi.

On Feb. 17, 1995, on the eve of Femsi's marriage to Dale, Mother told me that Gary called. With tears in his voice, he apologized to Femsi, admitting that no man could have wished for a better wife. I thought this was a belated attempt by Gary to purchase a little class for himself. Nevertheless, I felt a little sympathy for the "lesser fool." Perhaps he could not help what he was. And according to bits of information Femsi's children volunteered, Gary was being nice to his girlfriend. Apparently she was succeeding with him by a deft application of Bismarck's dictum that you can do anything with children if you play with them. Now he had a woman worthy of him.

I miss my chats with Gülhis, though both of us have outgrown them. Besides, we had our time, now it is Cavit's turn.

Happiness. I reflected on what had happened to us since our arrival in America in 1958. Because it had been difficult for Parents to assimilate to America, they had retained their Turkish identity. Therefore, Turkey, the Turkish language, customs, and culture continued as an active partition in all of us. Parents' feelings and experiences in America also projected on us, forming a filter through which our Turkish identity interacted with America.

But the time we spent in Germany was also a partition, at least another reference, as also Saudi Arabia for me. And although all of us were first-generation immigrants, my sisters and I were much younger. We also had our own circumstances, independent from Parents. The latter became the foundation of our American partition. Our personalities and experiences decided how we, as individuals, assimilated to America and filled this partition. Although Femsi was a romantic like the rest of us, she was more casual. Therefore, she seemed more practical than Gülhis and I and so acclimated to America more readily.

However, as we aged, these definitions and conclusions became blurred. Femsi only appeared more practical, because she was more accommodating. Basically, if her mate and kids were all right, she had something to do during the day, a few soap operas to watch in the evening, and a book to read at night, Femsi called it a good day. If her Americanization seemed more advanced by these standards, then Gülhis and I were happy that we were not as advanced, for we insisted on happiness over mere contentment, even if the former eluded us by our standards. To us America was a great experiment of mankind, but more as an idea, a state of mind, or a pilot study, not so much as an environment for day-to-day living. We thought we liked the European milieu better.

But as time passed, what we thought we liked, and not, also became blurred. We became aware of this by about the mid-1970s. Although we had missed Turkey for years, when we returned, we had difficulty fitting in. It dawned on us that we could not go back, not to Turkey, Germany, not to any part of our past: not to recapture. But we also did not feel at home in America, though we were more American than anything else by then. Gradually we adapted to a universal identity that was neither Turkish, nor American, not even Turkish-American. Our childhood in Turkey had been zestful, ditto the time in Germany, the college years in Morgantown, Saudi Arabia professionally for me. Our background had so much variety that now no single environment could be satisfactory for long.

So rather than defining happiness entirely by our tangible environment, we reduced it to a state of mind that was less dependent on externalities, also other people. This had practical consequences. Now we did not need to attend a party to be in a party mood. After 1993, Gülhis applied her need for zest to duty, to raising her genius son. I applied mine to personal projects, travel and mobility, experiments with different environments. After all, if life was a journey, not a destination, then it made sense that we did not limit our journey to walking in place, or back and forth, in the same old neighborhoods. And this approach also covered the eventuality that life was a journey leading to a final destination, a dead end.

People could debate journey versus destination ad infinitum. And they would, while they journeyed. But there could be no debate about the fact that true democracy and equality awaited everyone. All travelers knew their journey would reach the same port. There they hoped they would find out the answer to the greatest mystery, whether this was just another twist on a continuing journey, or a dead end in nothingness, not even a mystery. If the latter, they would not know the answer, not remember the question, debate, journey; it would not matter.

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