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“Give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” – The New Colossus, Emma Lazarus

Meet my great-grandparents, Franco Scotti and Rosa Porcellana Scotti, two of thousands of Italian immigrants who bravely crossed tempest-tossed seas to build new lives in the US.

We were able to trace them because Rosa, “Granny Rose,” had polio and was labeled “lame” by the immigration officer who catalogued her as she disembarked in New York, on Ellis Island.

I see my eyes in my “Granny Rose’s”
eyes; I sense my sense of adventure in them. I also credit them with my innate love of bold red wines, especially beloved Barolo, which is the town in Piemonte, Northern Italy, near where my great-grandparents were born. ~shared by @rachellacour

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“When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.
For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost.” -Frederick Buechner

Pictures help us remember to remember.

My grandma Beth and her mother, Violet, my namesake.

As I’ve seen and heard of the hardships and triumphs they experienced, I know my grandmothers stayed strong to their family and their faith. They are extraordinary women and I always have a piece of them with me, especially as I learn more about their lives.

This is one of my very favorite photos. ~shared by @maddievioleth

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Listen to the photos; they tell us stories.

It’s been two years since my Dad, Max, died. Time flies.

That’s him in the middle, the night before he set sail from Guernsey – an island in the English Channel off the coast of Normandy – to start a new life in Australia.

Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that your parents were once young and on the cusp of adventure.

Follow the river Dad and you will find the sea. ~shared by @janemadge

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My grandad, Jim, in his railroad gear. He worked for the Illinois Central and the L & N Railroad.

In 1850 U.S. President Millard Fillmore signed a land grant for the construction of the Illinois Central railroad, making it the first land-grant railroad in the United States.

My grandad was married to my grandmother for 67 years. I was lucky enough to know him for 45 years.

We always watched cartoons together on Saturday mornings. He always loved the Road Runner and Tom and Jerry.

He called me little monster, but I knew I had his heart always.

James Wesley Pate II, 1917-2007. I miss you every day. ~shared by @smarttimages

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This is my Grandfather, Peter Prato, and his best friend, and my father’s Godfather, Leo Taddeo, whom I knew growing up as Uncle Leo.
Williamsport, PA, circa late 1940s.

Uncle Leo passed away a little over a year ago. He ran a restaurant called The Columbia, one of the only places we ate Italian out.

Every time I saw him, he’d shake my hand and kiss me on the cheek and slip me a twenty. It was an insane amount of money for a kid.

After dinner, he’d give me and my sister a single Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

I would have done anything for these men. They taught me to be decent, and loyal, and not to put up with bullshit. They also taught me the power of bribing children

“The songs of our ancestors are also the songs of our children.” -Philip Carr-Gomm

This is a photo of my Dad and his two sisters, circa 1931.

My Dad was incredible. He was totally present in my life, gave great advice and we were super close.

My Aunt Julia, the one with the glasses, was my favorite aunt. She wrote me letters every month, stuffed with clipped supermarket coupons, chicklets gum and a dollar bill. She used to drink generic brand X beer and that drove my Dad nuts!

My Aunt Hettie, the baby in the photo, was a letter writer too. She had multiple freezers in the basement, packed with meats like a bomb shelter, and an attic full of brand new clothes ordered from catalogs still in the plastic. She was a high class hoarder with a heart of gold.

Above all my memories, though, is that my Dad was the greatest storyteller ever and so funny. He always held court and dressed to the nines. ~ shared by @lizajessiepeterson

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Family photos are often the glue that holds our stories together.

This is my Granny Dot, who lived until she was 92 years old; through the Great Depression, War, serious illness, and the tragic loss of the love of her life.

She grew up on a farm in Australia and during World War II, she was an enemy plane spotter.

My Grandfather was in the Air Force, and was injured when his plane went down in the ocean. He was given leave, and when his unit arrived in my Granny’s town, they met and fell in love. They were married and as they walked from the church, it was announced that Japan had surrendered.

He built their first home, a farm and house by the beach in a nearby town, which my family still owns and which I visit every summer. They had four children. Granny said that my Grandfather used to serenade her as she washed the dishes.

In the early 1960s, my Grandfather was driving home and his Land Rover rolled over and he was killed. I could never imagine how that must have felt for my Granny and her children.

When Granny passed away about a month ago, we took her body back to our family home in the country, where we buried her next to my Grandfather, the love of her life.

We felt like we’d returned her home and that she and her love have been reunited.

The stories I have been told about my Granny and Grandfather, through photos, are absolutely moving. They are profound reflections of the times in which they were taken. And they are deeply human.

As you can see, my Granny was one tough lady. Rest in Peace, Granny Dot. I deeply admire and respect you. ~ shared by @hattiewhittle

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