Whenever my mom catches me drawing in my free time, she tells me that I’ve been making art for as long as she can remember. This picture frame holds what she regards as my first “masterpiece.” It was the first time I had ever written my name by myself. 
I was a bit slow at learning how to read and write, but my mom was always patient with me. She says I would throw a fuss whenever she tried to teach me the alphabet and that I only paid attention to her when she was teaching me how to draw. We would draw together all the time and I often begged her to draw flowers for me while I tried my best to copy them. My mom then used this strategy to get me to write my name: we would go stroke by stroke and letter by letter until I memorized the process. After all the repetition, I was able to draw flowers and write my name by myself. Regardless of how comically sloppy it looks now, this painting reminds me of my mom’s dedication and my early passion for art. I’m thankful that my mom never gave up on me and we can look back on this painting and laugh. 

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