I was often too shy to talk to my extended family when I was younger. They would be in my grandparents’ kitchen, the house’s center of socialization. The rooms surrounding the kitchen were dimmed, but full of photos and trinkets. I would sit with these various quiet objects- objects my family all knew to some degree but were not thinking of right then with me. I liked to imagine sharing conversations with my family members surrounding an item they had some forgotten connection to. Maybe for just a moment, that object could be activated and humored between us. This book belonged to my mom and her brothers when they were children, and was read to me when I was a child, though I don't remember much of the story. I opened the book for the first time in a while and noticed a few annotations, the first being scribbly pencil shading encircling the publishing information. Next, a passage labeled with “personificatio” (the last letter omitted). Towards the end of the book, the word “dawn” is outlined in an awesome, scratchy slanted box, almost as if whoever drew it wanted to add something like a race car to the story but withheld the urge, maintaining the integrity to focus on what was there. According to my mom, the handwriting belonged to one of my uncles. Though my uncle and I had different experiences of this story as children, these experiences were both points in time in which the book was at the center of our attention, having influence over us for at least a moment. 

– Katie Whelan

Relationship:  Grandchild of im/migrant Grandchild of im/migrant