CHAPTER FIVE
I stared into the mirror, desperate to see any sign of facial hair. At thirteen, I was impatient to grow up. I measured my height daily and stood on tiptoe in photos, trying to seem as tall as possible. The day that I was finally taller than my mom, I felt a rush of happiness. I became obsessed with my hair, meticulously styling it with gel in front of the mirror, spending hours trying to look like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. My hair was so thick, I could barely pass a hairbrush through it, but those days are long gone now.
Adolescence is a very difficult time for many of us. Our bodies change and our insecurities multiply, as our still-developing brains try desperately to make sense of everything we are feeling and discovering. Our peers have a huge influence on us in these years, and who we surround ourselves with can have a big impact on who we will become. It is all too easy to slip down the wrong path and end up lost.
I didn't always like going to school, but I wasn't a bad student. I passed my classes without having to repeat any grades, and I managed a few trips to resorts in Kusadasi and to the summer homes of my father’s relatives in Dikili during summer breaks when I was a teenager. We never had the money to stay at Turkey’s coastal resorts beyond occasional day trips, but my mom’s employer granted her a two-week vacation at Sumerbank Camp in Kusadasi, which later changed its name to Club Diana.
My memories at Sumerbank Camp will always have a special place in my heart. I met tourists from all over Europe there, befriending people from many different parts of the world, talking eagerly to them in broken English. The French animators and entertainers Dede and Dodo, whom I met there, were amazingly talented guys who organized games and tournaments throughout the day. Dodo was a great soccer player; those days I thought he could easily play for the French national team. I also met many people around my age from different parts of Turkey who I formed friendships with.
I remember watching the ’86 World Cup with many tourists from Europe and shouting in excitement at Sumerbank Camp during those hot summer evenings. This resort type of setting, with its two beaches on each side right on the Aegean Sea, a restaurant, terrace, creek, basketball and tennis courts, two pools, bars and a disco, was heaven for a teenager like me. Although it wasn’t a guarantee every year that my mom would be granted vacation time there, this two-week summer trip was worth waiting and hoping for a whole year.
I was a romantic teenager and a gentleman growing up. Many of the songs I listened to as a teenager, often while deeply in love with girls, still bring back the intense emotions and memories of a time when the whole world seemed exciting and full of promise, as well as frightening and overwhelming. “Wonderful Tonight” by Eric Clapton, “Your Love Is King” by Sade, “My Love” by Paul McCartney and Wings, “Hello” by Lionel Richie, “Lady” by Kenny Rogers, “El Amor” by Julio Iglesias, “Wonderful Life” by Black, and many others take me straight back to those days when I hear them. A song like “I Want to Break Free” by Queen reminds me of the period when I was heavily into breakdancing in the mid-’80s, jumping and spinning with what now seems like unlimited energy. In the late ’80s we also got into bands such as Soul II Soul and Snap!
I bought youth magazines when I could and connected with pen pals from England, Norway, and Germany. My room had posters of Duran Duran, A-ha, Laura Branigan, and the movie Grease. I still remember when my friend Kaan, who worked at a record store, brought around a copy of the Supertramp album Breakfast in America with great excitement, and my friend Deniz introduced me to Boston’s Third Stage album in the late ’80s. I was blown away by both of these records. Having analyzed all the Supertramp lyrics, I still can sing most of the songs by heart. I was so happy when I was able to buy Paul McCartney’s Flowers in the Dirt on cassette in 1990. I was recently listening to “Distractions” from that album, and it made me feel sad, wondering where all the years had gone. I thought of all the people around that time I knew and wondered where they all were now.
Like so many teenagers, I was inspired by music; it often pulled me out of depression and boredom. I could be lying in bed aimless and unmotivated, but I would hear a particular song and leap up, energized by the beat and the lyrics and looking forward to the day. The future would seem brighter and the light at the end of the tunnel would appear to get closer.
For a period in the mid-’80s, when I was a teenager, my mother used to take me to classical concerts in Izmir on Fridays when she had the money. I was deeply touched by Albinoni's Adagio and Ravel's Bolero. I developed an interest in classical music and spent a lot of time listening to classical pieces with Efe, the son of one of my mother’s friends. I saw Joaquin Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez from the second row and was excited to learn years later that Rodrigo was married to a Turkish-Jewish woman. I still remember how long the musician’s fingers looked and how beautifully he played the difficult guitar chords that evening. I decided long ago to learn to play either the guitar or the piano, but I only took a few lessons. That dream remains on my bucket list — in my thirties, I developed a deep interest in Chopin’s nocturnes, extremely complex, touching, and melancholic music that still gives me deep, philosophical thoughts.
I was a typically rebellious teen, piercing my left ear by the age of fourteen (I now have both ears pierced) and walking around in ripped jeans, pleased by the disapproving looks traditional folks gave me. Karsiyaka youth had a reputation for rebellion and, though Izmir was known to be the most liberal city in the country, there were still many things that worried my young mind. I remember a few times that we went to restaurants when I was a teen and we received uncomfortable stares and poor service. They were judging us based on the clothing our female family members wore: my cousin Gul’s tank top and shorts, my mom looking modest but like some famous French actress. Izmir had its share of religious fanatics, and I found their attitudes unsettling. It could also be a dirty place; many people spat in the streets and littered without thinking.
The beautiful gulf of Izmir, where people went swimming in the ’60s and ’70s, had become toxic by the ’80s. It smelled foul when you drove past, because of the waste being emptied carelessly into its waters. As a kid I didn’t yet grasp the full magnitude of the pollution problem all over the planet, but it still bothered me on some visceral level. I have heard that the city has put a lot of effort into cleaning the bay since then and has done a decent job.
Although I was an only child and would feel bored at times, between all of my cousins and a large circle of friends from both school and our neighborhood, I would usually find things to do. Despite the two- or three-year age difference, I often played card games, chess, backgammon, and basketball with some of my older cousins’ friends, and I keep in touch with many of them to this day.
We were big supporters of our local basketball team and would go to games when we had the money to buy tickets. We would sometimes hitchhike or take the bus to Ataturk Spor Salonu in Alsancak, on the other side of Izmir Bay. With its two American players, Davis and Wiley, Karsiyaka won two different basketball championships — the domestic league and the President’s Cup — in 1987.
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