I headed to the North End (pronounced “Nah-th End”) in search of the apartment building where my paternal grandmother — whom I never met — was born in 1902. Even though I was on the hunt for my own family history, it’s impossible to avoid learning about the Italian American immigrant experience when in this Boston neighborhood.

My grandmother died long before I was born, and I’m now the age she was when she passed away. I never knew her, but we always had a connection. Growing up, I lived with my parents and siblings in a three-family home with my grandfather and uncles.