ABSTRACT

The author's father, an obstetrician/gynecologist, had secured a fellowship at Johns Hopkins Hospital for a two-and-a-half-year engagement. His mother, a midwife, was also going to study cytotechnology at the same hospital with the dream of becoming a pioneer in the new field of cytology (the study of cells), a field still unknown in Iran. At a camp, they were totally immersed in the English language in preparation for their school and the work ahead, which was to begin in the autumn. This was the first time the author experienced the hollow feeling of being pulled away from my parent's loving, nurturing arms. His predominant memories from that camp are of sadness. On occasion, especially at mealtimes, the author would get a glimpse of my parents and was able to grab a hug or touch from them. The author's father had heard of other families in Tehran who were sending their children to England.