Pockets Full of Hope

Honoring the Strength of Our Parents

I stood at the edge of the Persian Gulf, its deep blue color reminding me of the turquoise in Persian ornate miniatures. An occasional hot breeze wrapped around me like a blanket of warm memories. Only if this water could speak, it would tell untold stories: stories of love, separation, sacrifice, bravery, and endurance.

I see these stories all in my grandparents’ eyes,
Papa Bozorg and Momi Bozorg,
In their loving gaze shines joy and pride every time they see us,
Yet beneath it all, I can still see the weight of their sacrifices.
Their smiles speak of a life lived with courage,
a past left behind so that my family and I can be here today,
And so my girls can grow up in a land where “all are created equal.”

This is the story of every immigrant;
not just mine.

The story of people who left behind everything they knew—
the familiar streets of their homeland,
the comfort of their language,
the circle of friends and the support of family,
The feeling of belonging.

Some left behind wealth earned through years of hard work,
Others walked away from careers shaped by dedication and time.
Many arrived with only a few suitcases,
and if they were lucky, a few precious photos,
and the jewelry they quietly carried with them.

My grandparents and parents,
our grandparents and parents,
stepped into a new land where words were foreign,
customs unfamiliar,
carrying little from their past lives,
But they brought with them pockets full of hope.

Hope for a future brighter than their own,
a future where their children and grandchildren
could live with more,
more opportunity, more freedom, more peace,
So they handed us the baton for us to go further,
And we did.

Driven by their hard work and deep respect for their sacrifices,
We celebrate them at every graduation, every milestone,
from classrooms to boardrooms, professional achievements earned and well-deserved.

But in those moments, the deepest recognition belongs to the generations
whose quiet sacrifices were the driving force behind our success.
With their hopes, they planted seeds,
not for themselves, but for the generations to come,
At times, they may feel like the forgotten generation,
But with each step we take, each milestone we reach,
We add to what they began.
They are not forgotten.
They are remembered—
In everything we build, in everything we become.

We are building on the pocket of hope they once carried,
turning it into something lasting,
possibly something they may not have seen,
But always believed in.