It was 5:30 AM.
Mason Park in Irvine (southern California) was not yet opened. The line of cars trying to enter the park started from the park entrance and easily ran for a mile. We the drivers, deprived from our Sunday morning sleep, had coffee cups in hands, were anxious to get into the park and secure ourselves first a parking spot, a rarity indeed, and then a picnic table. “13 be dar” was upon us on this early Sunday morning.
That was 1994 and I was still young and energetic enough to line up early in the morning, park the car, fight for the “best picnic table/bench”, preferably next to the lake and then take a nap on the bench for a few hours before the well-rested family arrived with food, drink, and blankets.
Those days, Irvine's Mason Park was one of the very few central places in Southern California where all got together and celebrated “13 be dar.” In the mid. and late 90's, it was estimated each year that upwards of 20,000 people showed up at that park.
We moved out of the southern California in 1996 but returned back in 2000. Things have changed a bit. Now, several places are “happening parks” for this beautiful “all out” tradition of us Iranians in southern California.
Over the last few years, with new babies and a bit of distance, my family “13 ra dar kard” in parks closer to home. Last year, there were some 500 of us in a park in a small town called Laguna Niguel, south of Irvine.
This year was a different story. To start with, Sunday, April 2nd was truly the 13th day of “Farvardin.” No, we were not to do a “14 be dar”, “16 be dar” or even get ridiculous as we have had in the past and do a “12 be dar.” No my friends, this Sunday was the real one. For those readers who live in Iran, they need to understand that we California based Iranians, and I am betting most of us outside of Iran, celebrate the last day of Norooz on the closet Sunday to “13 be dar.” As a result, sometimes our “nahsi” gets out of our systems early, or sometimes late and once in a while, we get it right.
Every six years we get lucky as the “13 be dar” and a Sunday fall into the same day and this year was it. As such, Mason Park was the “right place to go” on this “right day” to celebrate. No longer in my 20's and early 30's, I refused to get up before the roosters did. To make things more complicated, ironically, day-light savings began on Sunday as well and an hour was lost.
We as a fa
mily got up, had breakfast and were happy that mother-nature gave us a break with a “no rain” day in the forecast. Around 1 PM, after lunch, we jammed a minivan and headed for Irvine. You know you are “There” when you smell the kabaob, see a line of cars, find yourself next to the $20 all day church parking lots and see many police patrols around the park.
It is rather amazing that neighborhood churches charge so much money for parking. I wonder if when the local folks plan their annual budgets, they put a line item on the revenue side of their Excel spreadsheet as:
Parking fees collected on “run-away 13” $10,000
We got there, dropped off the family, found an expensive parking spot, and did the 2 miles obligatory walk back to the park. Yes, the smell of bar-b-queue and Kabob was fantastic. The sound of music was in the air. Thousands of Iranians, very old, old, middle age (e.g., me), young and very young were walking around, playing and simply having fun.
I didn't have to guess for too long which sport was the most popular one as a football (soccer ball for some of our readers) dropped from the sky and managed to find the very top of my head, the place that not long ago was a jungle of curly hair but nowadays has turned into an endangered habitat for “Hair” and is in a permanent drought.
A little one, 10 years old, ran to me for the ball, and a big kid, 40-something, apologized while trying to control his laughter. I laughed with them too.
As I walked around, with my cell phone dialing my wife and mom, trying to find out where my family was, I couldn't help but notice the sense of joy, happiness and I dare to say sense of pride that existed among these people. Happily, I was a part of “these people.”
The smiles, faces and noises were telling me that:
“Yes, we live in a different country, and Yes, we are proud of our traditions.”
“YES, we are children, and YES, we speak Farsi or Persian (whichever you prefer) and we are actually pleased that we can.”
“YES, we are the “silver generation” of Iranians, but YES, it is so nice to see our children, grand children running around. While you are at it, please bring that set of backgammon so that I could show you how this game is played.”
A little later, as my 18 months old son, was running after the ball that my 5 year old was kicking, I was thinking to myself, if you had to be outside of Iran on this day, Mason Park is the place to be and this is the park you have got to come to.
I learned a few more things about our countrymen and women.
We Iranians like to party and have good voices, or at least believe we do. Every 30 or 40 meters, you could see a group, a couple of families, are singing and playing instruments or simply use their voices and hands as instruments. It was impressive and I have to admit very much “ear pleasing.” I wonder if there is such a phrase as “ear pleasing?” It doesn't matter. What matters was that the music sounded great.
It was fun to see a family play “Donbaks” and I mean they really played them. Easily, they had 6 of them with a few “Dayerh Zangi” mixed in the middle and they entertained many.
Another family took us for a beautiful ride in the memory lanes when they sang a very long version of “roo hozi” music. Kids of all ages were singing with them and dancing.
Yes, we know how to have fun.
Nothing dares to damper our attitude.
Not days and days of rain, not traffic jams, not lack of parking space or not any of the world problems that seem to be always around.
For that one day, for those ten hours, thousands of Iranians and their families and friends, gathered peacefully as one proud community and celebrated a tradition that started long before you and I were born and long before many countries, borders, religions and traditions had started.
At the end of the day, when I was doing the 2 mile walk back to our minivan with my older son, I asked him how he felt about the day and how he felt about all these Iranians talking Persian around him. He simply said: “It was a lot of fun and I could understand them.”
Actually he said: “Khali khosh gozasht va che khoob bood ke man mifahmidam mardom che migand.”
Life is that simple! Love your family, your country and respect and appreciate your culture no matter where you are.
This “13 be dar”, I was very much part of a strong community and it was amazing and very satisfying to see all the positive aspects of our culture.
Maybe I could run into you at Mason Park next year!
Reporting for PersianMirror.com from a land far far away,
