My immigrant parents never said ‘I love you.’ I understood why after becoming a parent

Yes qez sirum em
Ես քեզ սիրում եմ
I love you

When my son started pre-K a few years ago, I would hug him, give him a “pachik” (kiss) on the cheek and say, “I love you.” 

But the very first time I uttered “I love you” to him, buried deep in my mind was this thought: I never heard this growing up.

That’s when I decided to go to my parents for answers. I blurted out this phrase and proceeded to grill them on why they had never uttered this to me, in Armenian or English. 

What happened next, I don’t fully remember, but I do recall their expressions. They were dumbfounded and I could see that they were hurt. They must have thought, “Why is she questioning our love after everything we have done for her?” 

Why did I suddenly need verbal confirmation? Why was I trying to change them? If anything, they were the perfect parents. Was it fair for me to judge and reduce their love to three simple words? The truth is, I always felt loved. I have never questioned it or compared them to the families I saw on TV or in movies because I felt their love deeply. So, why did I feel that one way of showing love was superior?

Over the next few months, I couldn’t stop thinking about this. I started keeping a mental list of every little way my parents had — and were continuing to — communicate their love. I tracked their actions to prove that these gestures would outnumber and overpower any “I love yous.” 

Their sacrifices began in 1991, when they moved to a foreign country at the age of 38, leaving behind their own dreams. I was just two when we moved to Los Angeles. Since then, they have continuously put my needs above their own, giving me opportunities they never had. So, why was I suddenly forgetting all of this and trying to force verbal affirmation?

It wasn’t until I read the lyrics to Mr. Rogers’ song, “There are Many Ways to Say I Love You,” that I realized that I was trying to mold my parents into something they were not: 

“Cleaning up a room can say I love you. Hanging up a coat before you’re asked to… You’ll find many ways to say I love you. You’ll find many ways to understand what love is. Many ways, many ways, many ways to say I love you.”

As a child of Armenian immigrants, I also grew up with a song called “Bales” (My Child), which expresses parental love:

Indz hamar mi ashxar es, lusynak du aragak es, jan, bales bales
Kananch lini qo champan, merni qo boyin papan, jan, bales bales
Vor misht tesnem jptaluc, seghan bacem qo galuc, jan, bales bales
Inch vor ases es kanem, bales, qo tsavet tanem

You are my world, my moon, my dear child
May your future be easy, I will die for you, my dear child
I want to see you always smiling and I will set up a table whenever you come over, my dear child
Whatever you say, I will do, my child, let me take your pain away

I noticed that the words “I love you,” or “yes qez sirum em” in Armenian, are not actually used in the song. Rather, love is shown through sweet care and attention. Though the words aren’t spoken, the love is clear: the child here is the parents’ entire world.

And I always knew I was my parents’ world. I have come to find that my parents simply have a different “love language.” According to Dr. Gary Chapman, these include acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, words of affirmation and physical touch. For my parents, love was expressed through acts of service and quality time, not verbal affirmations — the form idealized in American culture.

These are just some of the ways my parents have shown their love for me over the years:

Acts of service

• Making my favorite meal or dessert whenever I call and ask for it.
• Recognizing when I am tired and cooking for me.
• Preparing a plate of cut up fruit when I am studying or working.
• Filling up my gas tank or driving me to the airport.
• Helping me move to my college dorm.
• Calling to see how I am doing multiple times a day or week.
• checking on me to make sure I got to my destination safely.
• Buying groceries when I am sick.

Quality time

• Spending the entire day together.
• Seeing each other several times a week.
• Simply being together without doing anything in particular.
• Having a cup of coffee or making Armenian desserts together.
• Watching Armenian movies dancing to Armenian music.
• Listening to stories about their time in Armenia.

If I need to be dropped off or picked up at the airport, they would do it: no questions asked. In fact, I do not remember a time when I have asked my parents for something and they have said “no.” It was simply never in their vocabulary.

Whenever I crave pomegranates, my dad calls and tells me he has deseeded them. If I ask my mom for gata, Napoleon or gisher tserek cake, it will be ready the next day. If these actions do not say, “I love you,” what does?

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After our conversation, I realized that perhaps my parents had said “I love you” once or twice — but in English, not Armenian.

I then reflected on my own love language with my children, a 7-year-old son and a 3.5-year-old daughter. I realized that I express love in many ways, both through words and actions. I pack snacks for them when I pick them up after work; sometimes, we share matnakash (a type of Armenian bread) in the car and I say “I love you” in English a gazillion times. Every Valentine’s Day, we also write notes to each other on heart-shaped paper, listing the things we love most about one another.

I sometimes feel a twinge of guilt when I say “I love you,” as if speaking the words somehow suggests that my parents’ way of loving was insufficient.

But there is no right or wrong way to love — only different ways.

How we express love is shaped by our cultural identities. As an Armenian American raised in the United States, I came to understand that the love I received was rooted in a different cultural register. Instead of measuring my Armenian upbringing against an American one, I learned to honor and embrace both.

One day, after my son came home from school, he pulled a small piece of paper from his backpack. He said that he had been thinking about me during the day and handed me a drawing of a pen, because he said he knew how much I love to write. 

Then he said, “Mama, I love you because you do everything for me.” 

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