My first Christmas in America: I tasted my first candy cane, pull-apart buns, and homemade pies with whipped cream that squirted from a can. Counting the stockings that lined the mantel, I was astonished to find that one was for me.
The seasons turned. I wrote letter after letter to capture the wonder of the first this and the first that, but also to quiet the longing for home. For the next two years, my host family taught me how to navigate the routines and rhythms of this new world so that when my parents arrived, I had not lost my footing.
Thanks

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References: http://www.sacbee.com/opinion/california-forum/article163999112.html

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