My father and his three siblings grew up in NYC. Having been especially close with my Uncle Bill, one of my dad’s brothers, I was told stories of their childhood and I am always amazed by their hardships. The object I take as representative of their upbringing is my uncle’s leather man tool. He’s had it for most of his life, keeping it by his side until the day he passed away just 4 months ago.

Having never met my paternal grandparents, I know them only through the stories my uncle had shared.  My grandmother was a Russian immigrant who came to the states to escape the Soviet Union.  As my uncle puts it, he and his siblings were raised “red diaper” kids.  They lived a life that was shaped by a communist influenced mother, like eating as though never to see food again.  My grandfather, an Armenian Turk, was rarely present.  He was a businessman, constantly traveling, working hard to send money back home.

The leatherman tool was a gift from my uncle’s father, which represented survival. Apparently, my grandfather reminded his children often how cruel the world could be, as he knew from having family experience the Armenian Genocide.  The knife reminded my uncle to be strong and smart in times of struggle.  When my uncle gave the tool to me, I felt that message. It’s a practical tool, but it’s also a beautiful reminder of my family’s struggle.