Another Sizdah Bedar came and went, and another celebration at Vasona Park in Los Gatos is behind me. But unlike previous festivities within the Iranian-American community, I felt more intimately connected to this one than probably any other.

Is it because of a deep, physical connection to the land of my forefathers? Probably not. I have only been to Iran twice, and the last time was a good seven years ago. Is it because of Farsi being my mother tongue? Hardly. My command of the language is tenuous at best, and many of my relatives actually grew up speaking Azeri rather than Farsi. What about the presence of numerous family members and friends? No. Unless by numerous you mean several.

Why then, was this year any different for me?

Well, I attribute it to the stale and overused, yet incredibly relevant concept of identity. No, I didn’t finally “find myself” after a weekend of pensive soul-searching. I didn’t, in a flash of teary-eyed revelation, realize that the powerful green, white, and red flag – parcham-e Iran – being held up by a bunch of Ey-Iran-singing seven-year olds on stage was the essence of my quest for self-meaning.

Instead, my newfound Iranian-American identity took many years to internalize and appreciate, a progression that by no means ended two weeks ago on that sunny day in Los Gatos.

I remember growing up an “Americo-phile,” and being embarrassed whenever my parents spoke Farsi to me in front of my friends. I remember rolling up the windows and glancing away from the eyes of my schoolmates whenever my Mom or Dad dropped me in front of my elementary or junior high school, a private school for which they made many sacrifices to pay the tuition, because I thought it was “uncool” that Morteza or Leila, rather than Metallica or Linkin Park, was playing on the stereo.

But about a decade later, I’ve come to respect and embrace the first part of the hyphenated demonym that I am: the “Iranian” of Iranian-American.

I now relish the opportunity to practice my mangled Farsi, find myself listening to Arash and Valy more than most fourteen-year old Persian girls from Westwood, and find myself connecting with many members of the Iranian-American community, in spite of the fact that I had few Iranian friends growing up.

But I’m still not a big fan of Torshi…

-Kevin