by Sara Saedi
To my brother from another mother, Jake Abrams. I may have gotten an older brother later in life, but I got the best one.
This narrative is as much my sister and brother’s as it is mine. Samira and Kia, thank you for trusting me with our family history and our shared adolescent experiences. The best part of writing this book was remembering how much we meant to each other as kids, and knowing how much we still mean to each other as adults. I love you both so much.
I don’t even know how to properly thank my parents, Ali and Shohreh Saedi. This book is a product of every sacrifice you’ve made for me. If that wasn’t enough, you were also my researchers, fact-checkers, and story consultants all in one. Thank you for the hours you spent answering my questions and for sharing details of your lives I’d never known. You’re what every parent should be. I love you.
A lifetime of thank-yous to my husband, Bryon Schafer. I knew you were the guy for me when you were able to remember all of my cousins’ names and tell them apart. Thank you for always believing in me and for embracing our crazy culture. I love you more than Persians love koobideh.
To my son, Ellis Ata Schafer—I was pregnant with you while writing this book, which made the experience all the more significant. I know that when you’re old enough to read this, you’ll be so proud of where you came from. To think—if there’d been a travel ban, you may have never existed. I love you, pesaram.
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