My father, Anker C. Studsgaard, emigrated from Denmark at the age of three. He spoke 7 languages and was a delightful raconteur.

My great grandparents came from Austria-Hungary in the 1870's. My grandfather was born here but the whole family moved back in 1903. He eventually moved back with my father in 1938. Mathias Macala all his life was an American citizen who could barely speak English, just enough to run a family farm and work at Ford, where he retired.

I am the son of a German immigrant who came to the US in 1955, 10 years after the end of WWII. My father, a physician and German soldier during the war, left his ruined country to come to the US largely on the advice of others, and because he was befriended by American soldiers in the POW camp at the end of the conflict.

Both sets of my grandparents emigrated from Eastern Europe in the early 20th century (Russia and Lithuania). My paternal side of the family was a bit dispersed (due in part to a "fight in Europe"). My maternal grandparents and one or two siblings emigrated, but many left behind and perished in the Holocaust.

My father Sandor (Alexander) Weiss came to the US in 1904 at the age of 2. His father, my grandfather, Jakob Varnos Weiss, had arrived earlier and sent for the rest of the family. They came from Eger in Austria-Hungary through Ellis Island.

My relatives (most of them) ended up in Flint, MI in the early 20th century from Canada. They came to work in the auto plants, or if not specifically the plants, then the booming city that grew up around the industry. They talked about Flint like a shining city on a hill, where anything was possible and where everyone made good money. They would not believe the Flint that exists now, they would not recognize it.

My mother migrated to the near West side of Cleveland from Puerto Rico in her upper twenties; my dad immigrated from Mexico City, Mexico in his upper twenties. Cleveland is where I grew up, but not completely home.

My parents emigrated from the Philippines in the early 1960s. Although they were fresh out of medical school, they came to the States without any money or guarantee they could even practice here. But, for them, the risk was worth it so they could provide a better life than they had, for their future children.

My grandpa's father Rudy Bukovec, immigrated to the United States from Slovenia. His family had a small farm in Slovenia and his goal was to come to Cleveland and work to be part of the American Dream.

My Pakistani father had immigrated to the United Arab Emirates when he was young with some of his siblings. He took my Pakistani mother there after they got married. Most of my siblings and I were born in the Emirates. At the age of 5, my father moved my mother and all the kids to Pakistan.

My parents immigrated to the U.S. from Haiti in the 1970s and 80s. Over the last several decades they have helped to bring their siblings and parents to the country. Stepwise migration has given my family new life and opportunities. No matter how long they've been in the U.S. they made sure to instill Haitian cultural values in their 3 children.

My great grandfather migrated from Hungary in the 1940s to help establish the Byzantine Catholic church here in America. What made that notable is that even though the Byzantine rite is a Catholic religion, Byzantine priests were still allowed to get married.

My maternal grandfather arrived at Ellis Island, speaking no English, in the company of his shtetl-mate. When asked by immigration his name, he responded in Yiddish, “mein landsman” (my neighbor). And that’s how my grandfather became Meyer Landsman!

We had a bit of a funny family legend that goes like this: when our great grandfather arrived at Ellis Island and the agent asked him the family name he responded “Vhat.” The agent kept repeating the question getting the same response. Frustrated by the response that sounded like a question, the agent assigned our great grandfather the surname White. And just like that the family had a new identity that went along with their new home.

I have lived as an itinerant immigrant my whole life. I lived in 6 countries and 3 continents by the time I was 20. These moves were not due to violence or persecution. But I am always an outsider and never truly belong, even in the countries of my citizenship.

My great grandparents came from Sweden and Poland with the rush of immigrants in the late 1800's and settled in NY then CT. I am a common American mix of caucasian European ethnicities and identify as American.

My country is a barbarism but the Venezuelan does not abandon. I am the first of my family to run away. I am the image of freedom. The one that opens roads. There is always a first one who opens the door and says follow me; here we are safe. It is hard to be without the love of your family, but it is important to be part of the story in the stories of the family of the future.

The smiling face of Barack Obama—as large as a shop-front in my native village in Assam, India—welcomed me to the United States of America, at the end of a long corridor. His teeth were so very white and perfect, almost too perfect. The smell of America hit me right away—an antiseptic, clean smell that seemed to say, “Here we like to have things in order—our way.”

My mother, Dominga, emigrated along with her family to Oberlin, OH in the 1930s from Oaxaca, Mexico. My grandfather, Antonio, worked in the steel mills and my grandmother, Cecilia, a Huichol woman, was a seamstress and embroiderer.

My parents immigrated to the U.S. from Beirut, Lebanon in the midst of a Civil War in the 1990s and have lived here since. I am a first-generation American. I still have strong ties to Lebanon and identify as Lebanese-American.