There’s something special about seeing my name in print. When I was in high school, I wrote for my local newspaper (The Bucks County Courier Times) on their teen panel. On the mornings a piece was featured, I couldn’t wait to pick up the paper on my door step and hold it in my hands. The ink would stain my palms. Once at school, teachers would say they were proud of me. Years later and thousands of miles from my old home, this email from my great aunt to all her children and grandchildren that says “Look who I saw when I opened my Sunday newspapers—Mary Grace’s granddaughter,” feels just as meaningful.