By the staircase in my house is a dark amber-colored piano, with faded keys that sometimes don’t make a noise the first time you press them. When I was younger, this piano was in my grandparent’s basement in Kansas. We were always together for Thanksgiving feasts and Passover seders, so my cousins and I would go down to the basement and excitedly smash the piano keys. The piano was my great-grandmother’s. She bought it when my grandma was 8 years old, around 1948. My grandma took piano lessons for ten years, and she says one of the best feelings was finally learning how to play a piece she had been working on. When she had children, she was so happy to pass it down to them. My mom started her lessons in elementary school, and even 40 years later she is still good at playing and reading notes. But my grandparents both say their favorite memory is when my sister and I were born, and they were even more thrilled to pass the piano down to us two. My grandma wanted to share the joy playing piano brings with us. I took piano lessons for a few years, but I was never very good. I remember when I would play and my dog would start squeaking her toys as if she was playing music with me. That always made my grandparents laugh. No one really plays it anymore, except occasionally my mom will play one of her two favorite songs, or I will try to play something by ear. I think it’s important that even if none of us are avid piano players anymore, we still try to keep its memories alive.
 

– Leah Condon

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