“I carried my babies like that,” my grandmother told me with a smile.
It was my first trip back to our family’s village with my son. He was 19 months, beautiful and happy, and I was bursting with pride and joy every day.
But I was nervous, too—Greece was a far trip from America, and parenting styles can differ so wildly, even when they come from the same roots. I wanted my grandmother to see that my husband and I were doing well with our baby, and that we were continuing to pass down our culture.
The sun was cooling down and we decided to go for a hike. I slipped the baby into his carrier, his father gently fastened his wide-brimmed sunhat, and we stopped to kiss my grandmother goodbye. She stopped me.
“I carried my babies like that,” she said. “Tied on my back, while I worked. They were happy!”
She gave me a kiss and we set out on our walk down the same paths that had been there for a hundred years.
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