If my grandmother had come to America today, she might be in a cage right now.
My grandmother immigrated to America when she was just three years old. My great-grandmother and great-grandfather has come over to the United States from Poland a few years before. When they started running out of money, my great-grandmother returned to Poland to get help. But she didn’t realize something very important – she was pregnant. Because America didn’t allow babies into the country, the two of them had to wait three long years before returning to America. Passing through Ellis Island, they finally reunited with my great-grandfather. My grandmother’s first memories are of seeing the Statue of Liberty as they came into the harbor and meeting her father for the first time. She said he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Now imagine if they were immigrants today.
Sitting around the Thanksgiving table, letting the food settle before dessert, was prime storytelling time in my family. At my aunt’s house in New Jersey, we’d cram as many chairs as we could around the table. Instead of focusing on the vastly different places family members ended up, we looked to the past. Even outside of holidays, my family often shared stories, of struggles and triumphs, of funny incidents and serious ones.