Growing up, I’ve never felt much of a connection to my family; my father’s family was spread out across the country, and my mother has never been close with hers, so there wasn’t much of a way for me to form a familial bond beyond my parents. I relied on my parents, especially my mother, to tell me stories about my relatives and my family, and to share the few family traditions and objects she had. Although these objects are very limited, one of them is a book of short stories and poetry published by Highlands High School of San Antonio, Texas, in 1968, which, on the last page, features a poem written by my grandmother. This particular copy is worn, with stains on the yellowing pages, and is close to falling apart at the spine, but considering the obscurity of this book, this is likely the only copy I’ll ever come across. My grandmother passed away when I was very young, before I ever had a chance to meet her, so as a result I wouldn’t quite say that she’s been a very influential or important person in my life. However, I still believe that everybody is influenced by their relatives in one way or another, and I think this comes through in my family with my grandmother passing a love of literature/writing onto my mother, and me inheriting it in turn.
– Harlan T.