Tony’s first blog post

Ok here it goes. This will be my first post on my blog. My Name Is Tony Armen.  I am soon to be 66 years old. I was born on October 16 1951, in Cagliari Italy.  My Birth Mother refused me at birth or at least that is what I am told.  I spent the first 5 years of my life in an orphanage run by nuns. I have very little memory of that time of my life other than a deep feeling of unhappiness.  Also a scar on my left cheek which I am told another child in the orphanage tried to put my eye out. Why I can’t remember anything up to the age of five has always bothered me. I suppose I have mentally blocked that part of my life out. I have often thought of trying hypnosis to see if I could retrieve some memories but I don’t even know if that kind of hypnosis is possible.

I have wanted to put down my thoughts on my life for quite some time. Not because I have had a particularly interesting life. I have not. I suppose it is vanity or a desire for my children to understand me better. these posts will be deeply personal for me.



Bless me Father I have sinned. It is 48 years since my last confession.

I confess that I do not believe in you or your God.

I confess that I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell.

I confess that I don’t trust your Priests or Nuns. I have seen what damage they can do to a young boys faith and innocence.

I confess I don’t believe in the infallibility of your Pope. Who for decades has hidden and protected the true sinners of the Church.

via Daily Prompt: Confess

My Name is Franco


The name given to me when my birth mother gave me up at birth and sent me to an orphanage was Franco Gerosa.  The surname is unremarkable like Smith or Jones. So the only link I have is my Christian name Franco. I was born in Cagliari Italy on October 16, 1951. Although Franco is a common Italian first name it was my name. I answered to that name when it was time to eat or go to bed. When it was time to go to mass or to play.  Even when I was being punished for doing something I wasn’t suppose to. I had nothing that belonged to me except my name Franco.

Then it happened. My life was turned upside down. No one told me what was happening, No one explained that I was leaving the only life I had known or why. I was told I was going to America to live with a family as there son. What does that mean to a five year old kid who has never had a family. Is this a good thing? Oh yes you will be so happy.

I came to America on December 4, 1956. Two days later I met my prospective parents. Oh they were so happy to see me as I was the little boy that they had hoped for. All I remember is being extremely tired and hungry. Mangiare Mangiare. My prospective father actually spoke Italian and told my new mother I was hungry.  My new parents took me to my new home in Pennsylvania and I had to learn all over again what to do and how to do it. The language barrier was a problem at first as my mother didn’t understand me and my father had to translate. Then the rules started.  I had to learn to speak their language. I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee black only with lots of sugar and milk. I had to wear shoes all the time, which turned out to be a problem as I never wore shoes before and could not walk in them.

Both my new parents came from large families. My fathers family was Italian and my mothers family was Slovenian. So I was displayed like a slightly used car to all my new family.  All this was confusing and frightening enough but the thing that made me the unhappiest was my name.  My new father’s name was Anthony and he went by Tony. Well I was starting a new life so I had to have a new name. Of course my new Christian name would be Anthony, and as a concession I guess my middle name would be Frank. So my new name was Anthony Frank Armen. Since everyone called my dad Tony I was called Tony also. But that created it’s own problems and I wasn’t a junior so I was called Tony Frank. I don’t expect you to understand how much I grew to hate being called Tony Frank. When my mother would call me that it was like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. The kids in school would call me Tony Frank out of derision and meaness. I would tell people just call me Tony.

I learned to accept my American name out of necessity and legality. But My Name is FRANCO!!!!




The New World.

After five years of life spent in an orphanage to be ripped out of that world with no warning and forced into a completely different world would be a shock for any child.  No matter how rough life may have been in the orphanage it was the only life I knew.  Once again I would be asked to accept a new reality without understanding why.  Moving to a new country not able to speak the language.

So I came to America the land of opportunity with no limits on what you can become.  My earliest memories were of course tv.  A five-year old italian who can’t speak english watching television for the first time.  I remember being sick a lot . I had sore throats and ear aches seemingly constantly.  I had three different types of measles. My new mother was a retired nurse.  So she would take care of me and treat me through all my illnesses. My adopted  father was italian and could understand me so he was my translator.  But he refused to speak italian to me. His reasoning was that I would learn english quicker and have less of an accent.  I guess ultimately he was right.

It turned out that I wasn’t very healthy. I had several physical problems. I was suffering from malnutrition. I had slight curvature of the spine. I walked with my toes out at almost a ninety degree angle and on my ankles.  The specialist said I walked like that because I never wore hard soled shoes.  I only ever wore slippers.  I had to where corrective shoes until I was twelve years old.  When I finally refused to wear them because I was tired of the other kids making fun of me.