With all the talk of immigration this last year, I’ve been particularly aware of my father’s childhood stories – learning English when he went to school and growing up as a poor immigrant during the Depression in the coal belt. He came South to play football in college and never went back, saying ironically, "There was so much less prejudice in the South" – which makes absolutely no sense unless you walked in his shoes. By the time I came along, there was none of the adversity so obvious in his narrative. Each Thanksgiving, I remember those stories, both the triumphs and the scars. And I will be forever grateful that his father brought his young family to live in this place…
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