Alireza Hekmatshoar | KIRN 670 AM
In this special in-language segment, Iranian American Angelenos reflect on how local parks shaped their childhoods, careers and loves throughout and after the pandemic.
Originally aired on Iranian radio station KIRN 670 AM, Hosted by reporter Alireza Hekmatshoar and translated here for the first time into English, the eight-minute segment features a park that became a makeshift classroom, one where a future filmmaker found his calling and even a library bench where a young woman met her future husband — presenting green spaces as sites of both solitude and connection for these Iranian Americans.
Listen here in Persian, and find a full English transcript below.
How much do we really live through our memories? Where do they form and how deeply do they shape us? Certainly, each of us has created many memories throughout our lives. And as many are born not only in private settings but also in public ones, what better stage than a park to imprint itself on our stories?
No doubt, if — as you listen now — you pause to scan your past, you’ll recall one captivating moment set in a park. Some of these memories, formed in parks, have played an outsized role in our lives — sweet, surprising moments few expect in such spaces, reminders of how parks quietly shape our lives.
“My relationship with parks goes back to my childhood. It was mainly because our neighborhood was surrounded by large parks, and my mother was extremely fond of yoga. So the park became a place she would always go — mornings or afternoons, before or after work. During one stretch of our lives, she would take me along. I was small, mimicking her yoga poses. Gradually, the park became a place where I could find calm. Beyond the typical childhood games and experiences, there was another dimension — it gave me time with my mother but also a corner of solitude. This goes back to, let’s say, my early teenage years. Eventually, this connection with the park led me to study there whenever I needed to read.”
Ali, now 47, shares memories of the park—memories forged more than three decades ago that continue to shape his life.
“ … and it became a place I would go not just for the usual teenage mischief and play, but for focus and reflection. I preferred studying there over studying at home. There were several reasons: First, it gave me a sense of independence. I felt I was truly on my own. Second, in terms of concentration, it was much easier there. Even one or two hours in the park felt like four hours of work. Had I stayed home, I would’ve needed the full four.”
The park, and his memories of that place, played a decisive role in Ali’s journey.
“For me, the park wasn’t just a place to play and pass time — it shaped the current and direction of my life.”
And this is the important point many overlook: Parks can be profoundly influential in a person’s life.
“I can say one of the best and most meaningful memories I have of parks is from the coronavirus period. It was a time when we managed to bring hope back into our lives. We could be together without feeling alone. That fear of losing one another began to fade.”
Few might have imagined that parks could one day become a turning point in people’s lives. During the pandemic, they became a source of spiritual salvation. Sara, now in her fourth decade of life, says the park helped her overcome the fear and uncertainty of those times.
“We walked in the park, talked, laughed — maybe childhood memories came back. I don’t know. All those things helped us get through that time. I think the park was the most important factor in helping me overcome my fear of COVID.”
Ali also had a transformative experience in the park that eventually shaped his career, and led him to create a documentary about the pandemic.
“One day I noticed a section of the park had been closed off. Curious, I went closer and saw a film crew at work. Instinctively, I stayed and watched the actors, the director — it was my first real glimpse of teamwork outside of school sports. The next day, I saw them again. I stayed longer. By the third or fourth time, it had become something I looked forward to. Eventually, I got to know their photographer, a young film student. Until then, I didn’t even know cinema was a university major. It became absolutely fascinating to me.”
That spark of interest became life-defining.
“My work, my life, all my thoughts— e verything now connects to cinema and artistic endeavors. And it all began in that park. Maybe if that park hadn’t existed, I’d never have discovered what I truly loved.”
A park is a quiet manifestation of humanity’s connection with nature. A place where plants, in their silent growth, remind us that life finds meaning only in balance with others.
“But I have a particularly special memory from the park — one of the best, in fact —because I’m now living its result: I first met my husband in the park library.”
And that’s how the park sheltered Sara and her future love.
“We got married. I had a child. Now we have a little daughter.”
And in that same park, where life’s spirit flows, the wind lifts the little girl’s hair just as it once brushed her mother’s, preparing her for a bright and exciting future.
“I went to the park near our home and fortunately met several mothers from different cultures, which was wonderful. We formed a group and shared knowledge about culture, parenting, even nutrition. My daughter was a picky eater, but some of the ideas and foods they introduced helped improve her diet and development.”
In the end, the park teaches us that life is the art of continuing — not with noise, but with quiet, hidden growth, just as plants silently push through the soil toward the light.
This story was produced by American Community Media in collaboration with the Laboratory for Environmental Narrative Strategies (LENS) at UCLA as part of the Greening American Cities initiative supported by the Bezos Earth Fund. Read more stories like this by visiting the Greening Communities homepage.
