I would squirm in my chair as my new teacher worked their way through the class register, and my stomach would drop as they attempted to say my full name: Priti Ubhayakar.
I left London for Australia at 22, not long after my mom died. I'd spent the final year of her life as her full-time caregiver as she battled with cancer. When she was gone, I needed to escape my hometown. I'll never forget my friend seeing me off, excitedly saying, 'You're so lucky to move to Australia!' I forced a smile because I felt the complete opposite. I was literally running away from my grief.
Firstborn daughters in immigrant families often grow up faster than they expect to. From a young age, they are entrusted with responsibilities that extend far beyond typical childhood expectations. These daughters take on multiple duties, including supporting their parents with language barriers, caring for their younger siblings, and serving as a bridge between their home culture and the broader society. Their experiences shape their understanding of responsibility, which in turn influences their self-worth and their pursuit of success.
While raising my kids in Chicago, I saw a recurring pattern. A neighbor would welcome a second child, or a friend's oldest would be ready for middle school. Suddenly, the city wasn't "enough" for them anymore. Seemingly overnight, they longed for larger backyards, quieter streets, and "better schools." Houses were listed, minivans were purchased, and then loaded to the brim. Those families disappeared into suburban cul-de-sacs.
The origin of the word "identity" comes from the Latin identitas and suggests "sameness with others," that is, our identity is both an individual self-concept and a collective one. Identity forms early in life and is fluid, evolving, and contextual. This is my hand, my foot, my voice, my dream, but I am also a we. I identify with an ethnicity, a gender or non-binary, a nationality, politics, class, occupation, and sexual identity.
Siblings usually grow up together in the same house, with the same parents, and sharing the same cultural background, yet they still become remarkably different people with distinct interests and divergent life paths. This is a widespread occurrence in families, but in immigrant families, the phenomenon becomes even more pronounced, as cultural expectations, adaptation pressures, and family roles provide additional layers of complexity. Children raised in such environments must navigate between the customs of their ancestors and the practices of the dominant culture,
When Lily Telloyan was in middle school, her household grew from two generations to four. Her grandparents and great-grandmother were getting older, so her parents moved the whole family under one roof in Lansing, Michigan. Nearly 20 years later, four generations of the family are living together again. After spending her college years in Indiana and then moving in with her husband, Alex, in Lansing, Lily started thinking about multigenerational living again.
Throughout many immigrant experiences, stories collected from family members can be a starting point for migrants. The memories gleaned from parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles-who crossed dozens of borders at great risk and with immense pain-can settle into the consciousness of new host communities for decades. For the migrants, these stories and memories represent the first step into a new world and contain lifelines with the potential and promise to build new, resilient identities and a sense of belonging in often hostile environments.
Kim (not her real name) and I bonded when our sons played on the same travel basketball team. For years, we spent weekend after weekend together in loud, testosterone-filled gyms, rife with the smell of boy sweat and breakfast sandwiches. We always sat in the same place on the unforgiving bleachers, midway up in the center, and picked up our conversation from where we left off at the previous practice or game.
We are a white, well-off (not extremely wealthy, but doing fine) family living in a mid- to lower-income neighborhood in a major coastal city. Our first grader goes to a Title I public school and a well-known, national non-profit (we'll call it "the ABC program") runs the school care. Our youngest will start kindergarten this fall. I grew up in a wealthy suburb with very minimal diversity of any kind, and I really appreciate that my children are growing up in a more diverse environment.
"Life is chaos," she said. "Mornings in my house are unimaginable. I have to get the kids up and fed, more or less, and out to where the school bus picks them up. At the same time I'm getting myself ready so that I can leave for work once I know they're on the bus. I don't leave before, because if the bus doesn't come, which happens more frequently than it should, I have to take them to school."
Growing up, Melissa Shultz sometimes felt like she had two fathers. One version of her dad, she told me, was playful and quick to laugh. He was a compelling storyteller who helped shape her career as a writer, and he gave great bear hugs. He often bought her small gifts: a pink "princess" phone when she was a teen, toys for her sons when she became a mom.
My wife and I have two kids, boys aged 4 and 6. I'm very happy with our family as it is. The kids are both out of diapers and in school all day. They're sleeping, we're sleeping. I feel like we've got a handle on this thing. But now my wife is saying she wants another one. She's 40, I'm 45-it's not totally out of the realm of possibility that we could have another one.
