This looks like just any old key but there's a very interesting story  behind it. It was the summer of 2016 ( I was 7 almost 8 years old ). My dad was digging up a pit in the backyard to burn some unwanted wood from a tree he had cut down. Then, out of nowhere I heard my dad call “Sylvia!” from the backyard, he sounded very excited. So, I quickly slid on my flip flops and ran down the porch steps to the backyard, when I got to him, I saw that he was holding a small, thin, and rusty old wrought iron key. “I found this when I was digging.” my dad said while panting from the heat. I asked to hold it and my dad said I could, but that I would have to wash my hands afterwards because of all the dirt that was on it. 
     t is about 3 inches tall and less than 1 centimeter thick at the top. it is about 3 centimeters wide. The part that opens the door is almost 2 centimeters wide. After inspecting the key for a minute or so, I gave it back to my dad and went back up the steps as my dad started cleaning up his tools. Later at dinner that night me, my parents and my brother  all started talking  (my brother was 2 at the time so he wasn't really talking) about what it could have been used for and when it was used. We all thought that it was the key of the first door (Our house was built in 1863) to our house however, we had no idea how it got under all that dirt. This key is very special, not only for the story it has, but for the bond it gives us to our home sweet home.

– Sylvia Carasquillo

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant