Gostash,

I had a grandfather that I never talk about. He was born in Tehran, Iran around the 1930s. His name was Goshtash Bakhtian. His American name was George.

He died when I was 3. I don’t remember him explicitly but I have fuzzy memories and pictures of him holding me like I was as fragile as a porcelain doll.

My grandmother, his wife, is called Dolat Bakhtian. She married him at 18. They had only talked on the phone twice before that.

After they got married Dolly (that is my grandma’s ‘american’ name) moved away from her parents and 6 sisters, she was the oldest of 6. She left her family and moved in with a man she had only spoke on the phone with twice.

I had a grandfather that I never talk about.

He had manic bipolar disorder, but she didn’t know and neither did he. There would be days when he would lock himself in his room and wrap himself in a blanket because the world seemed too bright. Then there would be days where he would wouldn’t sleep and spend all night calling every phone number in the yellow pages because the world seemed too dark.

I had a grandfather that I never talk about. Maybe I never talk about it because i can see myself turning into him and I am trying everything I can to avoid it.

My grandfather never played with my mother when she was little. He was locked into a psychiatric hospital and broke the window while trying to escape. My grandmother went to visit him in the hospital and found herself following a path of broken glass to find him. Maybe he should have worn a collar that read ‘if lost follow the path of broken glass and blood’. That is what mine reads.

My grandfather acted in plays. Maybe he wanted to, just for a moment, become someone else. Maybe that is why I acted in plays.

As the years went on my grandfather got worse. He got Hepatitis A from the water contamination in Iran. He was taken hostage several times by the Iranian government because he worked for the U.S embassy during the revolution. He would become manic to depressed in a matter of seconds.

I have a grandfather that I never talk about because I am afraid I will live a life un-lived like he did. And as I write this I find myself getting him and I confused. We share the same blood and broken glass and I hold the fuzzy memories of a man whose life I am living.

Me (right) before performing in a play

Goshtash (left) before performing in a play