Yeghishe and Baydzar spoke Turkish at home, but here on the shores of the Mediterranean, hundreds of miles from their mountainous birthplace, their son grew up with a fully Armenian education, mastering the poems, songs, speech, and prayers of his scattered people. He married Nazelie Ohanian, a girl he had met while on a trip to Aleppo, and together they raised Hovhannes, Kayane, Haroutioun, Arshag, Arisdages, and Avedis. They lived in a small apartment in the picturesque seaside town of Byblos, where the children attended school at Trchnots Pouyn (The Bird’s Nest), an institution founded to educate refugees of the Armenian Genocide. It was no small task to feed and educate all six children, but my grandfather managed it with grace, simultaneously keeping a store, working as a mechanic, and serving as the caretaker of the Armenian cathedral in Antelias. All seemed well; in the Doghramadjian household, Armenia had survived, born again and regenerated in the fertile soil of Lebanon.