Deja vu

Received an interesting e-mail from my son, Jason, today. He was ten years old when we lived in Iran during the Islamic Revolution. Now he's living in Bangkok, Thailand, (at Klong [canal] 10) and sending me messages that are eerily similar to the low-tech letters I sent home to my mother when living in Iran during the 1979 Islamic Revolution.

Here's what Jason wrote today:

Well, it's begun! The tanks and soldiers moved into the Red Shirt camps this morning.

Now the Reds have taken over Future Park Mall and shut down Rangsit Nakorn Nayok Road, from Future Park up until Klong 10. That road is the one from Future Park up to Klong 3, where we have our "starter house," the town house.

Jedi's school has been shut down. Dtawm picked him up and took him home an hour ago. I'm still at Thammasart now. It's 11:26 am. The principal will probably shut this place down too.

I'll let you know as things happen!

Jedi is my six-year-old grandson. Dtawm is Jason's wife. It all brings back memories of the time I received a phone call from Jason's elementary school in Isfahan, telling me that the riots were dangerously close to their school, and I was to get there immediately. My husband and I drove through the city, taking detours when we encountered soldiers, tanks, and pro-Khomeini rioters. We finally made it to the school, only to discover that Jason was nowhere to be found! (The teachers assumed we had already picked him up, and they were evacuating when we arrived.) We panicked. Then we panicked more. Then I recalled that I had once pointed out an apartment to Jason-- a place where one of our fellow professors lived, across from the school. I had told Jason to run there if things got bad. Sure enough, we found him there, eating Halloween candy, and riding a bike around the courtyard with their daughter, who had just had a party. That's when my nerves cracked, and I broke down crying. Must have looked like a nutcase!