My gma, me +my mom, in front of Michigan Central Station, Detroit.
My grandparents arrived at Detroit's Michigan Central Station [pictured above] from Europe, bringing their two children with them- a son, who tightly held his father's hand and my mother- an infant, was being cradled in her mother's arms in a traditional handmade baby carrier called a bunting. It was their first time in America.
Decades later, in another part of the city, my mother wrapped me up in a bunting that her mother (my grandmother) had made and stepped into the brisk air of a spring just beginning to take shape. She held me close in the car as they made their way home from the hospital.
Many seasons had passed when I stood in the doorway of the same exact hospital in Detroit where my mother had once-upon-a-time stood with me. This time I was holding my own daughter- in a bunting made by my mother. Ready to take my own baby home for the first time.
Decades later, in another part of the city, my mother wrapped me up in a bunting that her mother (my grandmother) had made and stepped into the brisk air of a spring just beginning to take shape. She held me close in the car as they made their way home from the hospital.
Many seasons had passed when I stood in the doorway of the same exact hospital in Detroit where my mother had once-upon-a-time stood with me. This time I was holding my own daughter- in a bunting made by my mother. Ready to take my own baby home for the first time.
The Aoki Bunting, in the flesh
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