Father of my Father
I woke up to a surprise this morning; my dad had sent me a photo his brother had sent him after their other brother had shown him an old family album that none of us had ever seen. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever seen my grandfather. It’s fitting and bittersweet to see his face and my dad’s chubby smile today. I’m heading back home for the first time in five years tomorrow—the first time since I arrived here, and the first time since becoming American. It’s fitting and bittersweet because my heritage is as complicated as … Continue reading “Father of my Father” →
