This was clearly my grandfather’s handwriting—a characteristically Argentine script marked by irregular capitalization. It was Thanksgiving, and I was in my grandparents’ basement in the suburbs outside of New York City. As I read on in silence, I could hear my extended family ambling about upstairs. Within the first few pages of the binder, Abuelo had recounted centuries of our family’s history, touching Mesopotamia, medieval Spain, Ottoman Syria, Latin America, and the United States, as it had all been told to him by his father. What I held in my hands was an oral history, and Abuelo was the first to write it down. As I gently flipped through the rest, I found diaries, travelogues, letters, and news clippings from Abuelo’s own youth, a treasure trove of recollections, remembrance, and research.