One St. Patricks day I found this mysterious little doll sitting on my dresser. She had this billowoy lacy green dress, a white spanish mantilla on her head with one thick brunette braid, and a musky aroma. Her expression was mischievous, high-arched eyebrows, eyes darting to the side, and a little smirk. Obviously I believed wholeheartedly that she was a leprechaun that I named ‘Belza’. My first grade class was amused at show-and-tell, and soon my friends shared the belief of her magical nature. Everyday the schoolyard would be filled with the sound of chatter and laughter as we made new stories of her magical life, and she would always roam the classroom when our wide eyes weren’t on her. Over the next months she would gain ‘experience’, her ceramic feet and hands became dirty, her face smudged, her dress was a bird’s nest, and her foam arm detatched. But I still loved her. Soon, Belza, gained a new sister. An identical doll, except with a pristine vibrant blue dress, a pink rose atop her head, and she cradled a paper fan, she had never been handled in 40 years, as perfect as ever. She was Zella. After the year ended they gained dust on my shelf, propped up on display as if it were a museum.
Just this year I found out their true origins. My great-grandma had bought them decades ago in Spain for my mom as a girl. Now, I am grateful my mom was able to keep my whimsy alive for those years. Even if I'm not Spanish, they’re still dear to me. Even now, when they're sitting on my shelf, I still think they are leprechauns, waiting to come alive again. 

– Sonora B.

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