Traces of my immigrant roots seem to follow me everywhere.
I don't think I realized how much being a child of immigrants -- specifically immigrants who were peasants/farmers -- would influence my life as much as it has. It was the root of where I came from. I would often wonder, growing up, why my family felt, well, poor, compared to my other friends. My friends who had parents who did not have roots as a farmer. I think in a way, I wish my life circumstances would have been different in that way, but looking back, it does make me appreciate the blue collar roots that I had. We had humble beginnings, but we made a good life here in the US.
Here is an ode to my childhood home, the one I grew up in, the one that carried me while my life was developing and shaping when I was young.
