I am a first generation American and I’ve always identified with the immigration story. I grew up straddling two worlds, feeling American when I’m abroad and foreign when I’m home. My mother was twice an immigrant. As a child, she left Italy with her family to emigrate to South America after World War II. She met my father in Buenos Aires and together they came to the United States for his career. And it was outside Washington, D.C., that they ended up raising a family. I remember my mother learning English. I remember when she got her driver’s license. I remember how much she hated living in the suburbs. My friends growing up were also like me. Our parents had accents in English. We spoke two languages. We ate weird food. My daily phone calls home during college were surely seen as unnatural by my New England classmates. After my mother passed away, I applied for my Italian citizenship. It was one way for me to honor her and also to add another loop to our story of immigration.