I grew up in a restaurant. Every Greek kid I know did. You know us. We’re the ones fluently handling your takeout order in a language our parents will never master. We’re the ones ringing you up at the register, polishing your silverware, peeling the potatoes you will eat as homefries on Sunday morning.

As a child, I hated being yoked to my parents’ restaurant. To their livelihood and pursuit of the immigrant dream. As an adult, I can’t stop thinking (and writing) about this experience. How it both shaped me and scarred me.

I’m not alone. 

Restaurants—and those of us who grew up in them—are having a real cultural moment right now. Our parents left their home countries and had to work to survive. They did not have the time, the literacy, nor the privilege of becoming artists.

Now there is a whole generation of us who can tell our family’s stories. And we are.

Instagram: @restaurant__kids