My object is tortillas. Not only are they a main representation of my culture and people but also of my family’s journey. While in Mexico my dad, an agriculture worker, struggled day to day to provide food for his growing family: a wife, two girls and a third on the way. At the time, my father earned fifty pesos a day, basically 5 US dollars at the time. They could not afford much besides tortillas and maybe a half gallon of milk. During these struggling times my maternal grandfather was a tacquero, had a little grocery store and he would supply my family with the everyday necessities for years. In every meal that I can remember, it was always accompanied with tortillas. When we came to the US and my father was making a good earning, I can recall him at the dinner table looking at his food and around the table and saying “Y las tortillas?”. To me a Mexican meal is much tastier with tortillas, I tear them apart and dip them or spread sour cream and cheese. They are a conversation starter. A memory of my grandfather and one day a memory of my father at the dinner table. They are what I was raised with and what my daughter now enjoys as her morning breakfast taco.