My object is a large, thick volume of Christmas stories, with full color pages and gold edges. This book has been in my family a long time, at least since I was five. (That’s my earliest memory of it.) Every Christmas Eve, we build a blanket fort in front of the fire and Dad reads our favorite tales to us. It’s a big part of our Christmas tradition, even though we aren’t religious. 
This is a big part of me because some of my best, earliest memories come from being curled up under the fort with my little brother, watching the dancing fire, and hearing Dad read Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. What does this story means to me? I think it means family togetherness, and memory, and Christmas spirit, and the power of words. What it means to my family is probably how old it is. How much it’s tied in with our family history, and what part it plays in our own little religion. 
It’s connected to my identity because my maternal grandmother is very religious, and although I don’t really know where the book came from, there’s a good chance she bought it. We read it every year, and it’s the most beautiful feeling you can get. It represents me in this way: I love books, and I hold memories and emotions dear. This is a book, but it’s more than just a book. On its pages, in ink of thought, is written our family memories, our history, our story. I’m written in those pages somewhere, and that’s how it represents me.

– K

Relationship:  Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more