Read I'm Not a Terrorist, But I've Played One on TV for Free Online

this day you must yell. Then there’s a pause as your voice travels. Then you hear an echo of your voice. Then the person on the other end answers. After a few sentences you don’t know if you’re talking to yourself or to someone else. I assume part of the problem might be that someone from the government is listening to your call so maybe the third line is what’s causing the difficultyin communication. I used to think that it was only Iran listening in on the calls, but I guess nowadays the United States might be listening, too. So that’s four lines, which would further explain the bad quality and the need to shout.
    Growing up, it was perfectly normal to wake up at four in the morning to your father shouting at relatives on the other side of the world. You would think he was mad at them, when in fact he was offering good wishes.
    â€œI VISH YOU A GREAT NEW YEAR! VHAT? IIII VIIIIISH YOUUUUUUU A GREEEEAAAT NEW YEAAAAR! VHY ARE YOU REPEATING EVERYTING I’M SAYING? IS DAT ME TALKING OR YOU? I’M NOT YELLING! I SAID! I VISH YOU . . .”
    This would go on for hours as we had to call relatives in Iran, Sweden, Kansas City—wherever the hell they were living. It was hard enough trying to sleep through this at four in the morning, but then my parents would wake us up to wish our relatives a happy New Year.
    â€œHI! IT’S MAZ! MAZ! YOUR GRANDSON! WHY ARE YOU REPEATING EVERYTHING I SAY? IS IT MY TURN TO SHOUT OR YOURS?”
    Living in the United States, phone calls were my main source of contact with Iran. I would get on the line with relatives and tell them how much I missed them. As I got older, it occurred to me I really didn’t know them that well; it was just habit to say I missed them. Besides, it wouldn’t have been too nice to tell the truth.
    â€œHI. IT’S MAZ. I DON’T WANT TO BE ON THIS CALL. I BARELY KNOW YOU. IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE I’VE SEEN YOUR FACE. I JUST REMEMBER YOU USED TO GIVE ME MONEY FOR CANDY. DON’T GET MEWRONG, I APPRECIATED THAT, BUT I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW YOU THAT WELL AND MY DAD IS JUST MAKING ME TALK TO YOU AND TELL YOU I MISS YOU. WHY ARE YOU REPEATING EVERYTHING I SAY? I JUST WANT TO GO BACK TO BED. JUST HANG UP. HANG UP!”
    Persian Eyes, They’re Watching You
    I did not return to Tehran until 1999. My father traveled there in the early 1990s to work on some real estate deals and earn back some money he had lost while living in the United States. In the ten years he was in America, he had lost much of his fortune in bad real estate ventures. It was strange seeing Don Corleone sitting around our condominium in Los Angeles, where we moved in 1990, waiting for the phone to ring, just staring at the wall very anxiously. I was always expecting him to pull me aside and whisper, “I should’ve known it was Barzini all along!”
    Fortunately, he never went movie crazy. In Iran, if you lived rich, chances were that you would die rich. It was hard for someone on top to lose it all. In the United States, it was not the same. If you weren’t careful with your money you could lose it very easily. And my father was not the type to put money into a 401(k) or a trust fund for the future. He was a self-made millionaire who thought he could never lose, but he had to move back to Tehran to get his business going again.
    It wasn’t until 1999 that my two brothers, sister, and I were able to get our papers in order to visit him. We had to arrange for visas that would allow us to come and go temporarily without having to serve in the military. Iran considers you a citizen of Iraneven if you have become a citizen of another country, and they have mandatory military service for all boys of a certain age. So in order to visit we had to make sure our papers were cleared and we could enter the country without having to do military service.
    I had no interest in becoming Jihad Joe. First of all, I am not into