When Our Grandparents Came to America...

 It was a perfect day for a walk. The freshly cut grass in the Sculpture Garden was a delight to breathe in and trees were in bloom. All was well until we saw a woman walking carrying a baby on her back while she carried a bunch of flowers that she was trying to sell. Her back was stooped from the weight of the baby, but she kept on.

The words echoed in my brain. “When our grandparents came to America, they started working right away.” I’d heard people say that too many times.

Ready for an argument, I almost wished that someone was there who would dare to say that to me. Maybe their grandparents discussed their immigration stories, but most didn’t, preferring to move forward and make a better life. Many had memories that they preferred to leave to the past.

My maternal grandmother had a different reaction. In 1905, at about 10 years old, she came to America from Russia with her parents and three brothers. Prior to 1924, the United States had no immigration quotas for people coming from Europe. Anyone arriving at Ellis Island without contagious illnesses was allowed to stay and without having to wait years for work permits. Most people started to work immediately.

Unlike most people, my grandmother talked about her story repeatedly. I heard most of her stories too many times to count. Therefore, I know that my grandmother and her family moved in with her Aunt Dina who had 11 children. There were thus 19 people in the same house which most likely had only one bathroom. They lived with them for over a year while my great-grandfather worked for his brother-in-law. When he was able to, he started his own business. Eventually, they moved to their own place.

Yes, it was different when our grandparents came. Besides being able to work right away, there were more SRO’s that people could afford. Some people moved in with family that had arrived before they had without worrying about zoning laws that prohibited extended families living together. It was hard for them, but it was doable.

Unless you’re one of the 9.1 million Native Americans in this country, you or someone in your family has an immigration story. This is my family’s story. What’s yours?