The only surviving photograph of my grandfather, with my grandmother and mother as an infant (about 1917).
My mother experienced the Armenian genocide as a young child. It never really left her. She was born in 1915, the oldest of three children. To us, her children, she was not open about her early life as an Armenian growing up in the Anatolian highlands.
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A Neopolitan pizza, just out of the oven, and ready to serve. What could be better? Normally it’s brought to the table unsliced, still inflated and soft from the intense heat.
Evangelical Christian gathering in Central Park, 1967



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