The old car seat in our family has been riding with me, my two sisters, and my little brother through every part of growing up. It’s been buckled into the back of every family car we’ve owned. It has many spills, crumbs, and naps. That seat carried us on long road trips,espsically ones where everyone slowly falls asleep. It’s been there for late drives home from vacation, packed between blankets, backpacks, and leftover food. It held each of us on our first day of school, our first big vacations, and our first time seeing the beach. Even when we outgrew it, the seat stayed around, waiting for the next kid to take their turn. It’s like a little time capsule of my childhood, worn down but still here . Every stain and scratch feels like a memory stamped into the fabric. Now that my little brother is the last one using it, the seat feels like its tying all our early years together. It’s just a car seat, but it’s also a piece of our family history that’s traveled everywhere with us.
 

– Anders

Relationship:  Im/migrant Im/migrant