Coco the monkey doll was and still is a significant piece of my family history. It was my great grandmother's (or Nana's), who passed it down to my mommy and uncle Ricky, then down to my sister and I. My child brain could never wrap my head around how it looked so real, yet it wasn't even living nor breathing. Coco actually has a brother, Baboo. He was just as cute as his sister. Funny thing is that I would play with them just as I would any other baby doll. I never saw them any differently. I never saw a difference in anything, and that says a lot about who I have become today thanks to my mom. 

   My much elder relatives, the Hungarian immigrants of the early 20th century, were small minded. They stuck to their traditions from home and didn't try to change. Eventually generations would pass and start to break that cycle. My mom really broke down those barriers. She never hesitated to let me learn and love the way I wanted to. The lesson I learned from an early age is that love is found in different forms. A baby is a baby and needs taken care of. The shell is what keeps it alive, and the soul is what you want to find. Those monkey dolls where my play pretend children and I loved them all the same. 

   I plan to teach my children to feel the same way. To have a heart so full of love that your blind to the world's confinement and hatred for something out of the ordinary. Those dolls are a piece of history that I don't want to be erased. Why? Because continuing a legacy of learning and community is who I am. I have Hungarian blood, but I will not have my ancestors' mind.

– Skyla M.

Relationship:  Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more