EMERSON, NJ - September 21st is Armenian Independence Day. It is the date on which, in the year 1991, the Armenian people declared themselves free and independent, once again ready to join the brotherhood of nations and embark on a new journey into a new millennium. Within the span of the 20th century, it was the second independence achieved by our little struggling nation, the first being that of May 28, 1918. Across the entire world, wherever we may find ourselves on these two momentous occasions, we take pause to extol their sacred memories in our hearts and in our minds with honor and with celebration.

The Home of the Armenian Aged here has a calendar of events virtually laden with programs and presentations from the various segments of its community. This 9th-anniversary commemoration of our Armenian independence was clearly a red-letter day placed at the very top of the list of priorities.

A select group from the repertory ensemble called "The Way We Were," of which I am a member, and which is known here in the Northeast for its entertaining musical presentations of Armenian village life, had been called upon to embellish the festivities of the day. Applauded for its engaging narratives and innovative dances and songs developed from the original paradigm of treasure brought to these shores by our gallant survivor generation in the earlier part of the 1900's, its bill of fare contains all the traditional ingredients needed to give a celebratory "hye" to the day.

And thus, with the venerable residents and the attentive staff eagerly gathered there together on that gloriously sun-lit afternoon in September, the doors to the Independence Day party at the Emerson Home were officially opened.

At preciously 2:30 p.m. with all systems go, and with our pianist ready and waiting at the keyboard, what better way could there have been to enter the assembled salon than with a collection of huge tri-colored balloons held high in the air and the collective singing of "Mer Hairenik" with all the glory and passion of the ages.

The usually quiet, docile, even withdrawn and difficult-to-reach audience exploded in a veritable sunburst of ecstasy. Everyone there was beaming and bursting and clapping and singing every single word to its fullest…Some trying to rise from their chairs, some with their clenched fists held out before them with sparkling eyes…waving and swaying to the beat of the beloved anthem…ecstatic and euphoric….completely electrifying the room.

Was this the home for the aged? Never in a million years would anyone have believed it. These were young hearts, with young heartbeats alive and strong and engaged in the event; remembering and recalling who they were, attuned and aligned to the roots from which they had come; feeling the courage of the centuries pulsating through their veins. The moment was purely magical….

Songs with the words "Hayastan" or "Hairenik," with "Masis Sar" or "Lernere Hairenee"; with Antranig or with Serop; with Yerevan or Ararat or Alagiaz or anything else that was vaguely representative of their ancient homeland was received in an uproar of adoration and acclaim. It would not be an exaggeration to tell you that, during the span of more than an hour, the room became radiantly transformed; transported completely to young hearts and exuberant spirits. There was no way that they could contain themselves.

Upon hearing strains of "Hoy Nar," or "Eem Chinaree Yaruh," or "Khndzoree Dzaree Dahgeen," they were immediately singing all the words to all the verses and clapping along…even up on their feet dancing in place…And do I dare tell you that there were those who transcendentally left their places and, with great courage, came forward to join the "Armenian Line" and link their "Armenian Pinkies" and become part of our great "Armenian Circle." I am nearly breathless recalling it all…It was so spectacular.

Yet the best was still to come. How was anyone present there that day to have known that there would be a finale to this show that could never match any other?

In the rear of the room, poised on the very edge of a wheelchair, with a woolen cap pulled over his head and a pair of eyeglasses perched on the tip of his nose, was an elderly "hairig" who had been vociferously singing along with us from the very first moment. He both knew and enunciated every single word of every single verse of "Mer Hairenik" with as much ardor and as much zeal as the gods would give him.

Now what I really need to tell you at this point is that since it was Armenian Independence Day, upon unanimous request, we sang "Mer Hairenik" three different times at three different intervals in practically its original 18-verse form…and that it was our "hairig" in the wheelchair in the back of the room who was visibly leading the revelry with an outpouring of zest that could barely be contained, not only in his voice but in his entire body language.

As we began getting well into it for that third and last time, I slowly meandered through the audience, singing my way to the rear in order to join him and spotlight his exuberance and his stellar ability.

Reaching his chair, I laced my arm around his frail angular shoulder and bent down close, almost cheek to cheek, ready to complete the final verse…both of us singing away. At that moment, I suddenly notice that his dentures were not doing too well, and that, as he was opening his mouth each time with his bravado, his uppers were gingerly dangling to the rhythm of the ongoing music.

As we got to "Amenayn Degh Mahuh Mee Eh" and he opened his mouth to its very fullest and roundest to let his voice ring out in the transcendent joy, those dangling uppers that he well knew were giving him trouble fell right into his already prepared left land… and he caught them and held them, never batting an eye or missing a beat, and continuing singing to his heart's content as if nothing at all had happened…even managing at the end to give us a special military salute while we jubilantly gave him a grand standing ovation…and of course the Independence Day program reached its conclusion.

As we later, with the entire attentive staff gathered around the enormous tri-color cake, that was the gala gourmet treat of the day, all the joyous spirits that had emerged there that afternoon continued to soar and soar and we hope and pray are soaring still.

For the folks in the group "The Way We Were," it was a treasured "Show of Shows"…never again to be experienced and certainly defying the possibility of any future encore performance. We had literally been hit head on with the impact of our very pursuits and our very endeavors. The way we were was right there before our eyes. Not as a popular Barbara Streisand recording, not as the coined title of a performing ensemble, but as the Living Breathing Spirit of The Indomitable Armenian People. What had emerged there before our very eyes was without question…the way we were.

That night, as replays of the day's events went endlessly scurrying through my head, I could not help but think again and again of our dear "Hairig" and how he had single-handedly defined the spirit of our Armenian People, there at the Emerson Home that afternoon.

What's losing a pair of uppers compared to what the Turks did to him?

And, after all, had not our venerated survivors virtually walked on through the smoldering ashes into a new time in history to then build their new nation from the ashes and declare their newfound freedom and independence to the world? This is who we are. And our "Hairig" there at the Emerson Home on September 21st revealed it to the very core. He was the living example of that inextinguishable life force throbbing within us, which with God's help will continue to bring our young nation into new days and new ways…always weaving the previous threads of who we were with who we shall become.