are related to me.
They are my step-brothers, Doug and David (with their wives Michele and Stacie), my Aunt Eileen, My great-aunt Adeline, my dad (John), my mom (Sherry), my step-father (Hiram), my great-aunt Flo, and my Uncle Joe. And each one of them brought unique and amazing pieces to help build the whole of who I am today.
Doug was the straight man in the family. He has the best deadpan sense of humor of anyone I know. He showed me that it was okay to be goofy, to take things less seriously (and those of you who've known me for a long time know that I was a little too serious for a kid), and that even the jokester of the family had a tender heart. I love my brothers.
David was the baby of the family. He let me torture him and he laughed about it. We'd lock him in hampers, closets, and toy chests. He let us comfort him when he was afraid of the thunder. He was gentle, sweet, and kind-hearted. He was the ideal kid brother. Cute, easy-going, and happy, and eager to please.
Greg is not pictured here. He left us in 1992. We were eight months apart and were terribly jealous of one another. We swam together, played together, and thought we saw a UFO together. We weren't close as teens, but he had such a tender heart. I wish I had seen it then and had known how to honor it.
I met these boys when I was five years old. Without these three boys, my step-brothers, I wouldn't know what it is to have siblings. And even though we didn't grow up in the same house, we spent time together on visits and during the year I lived with them in Florida. Doug and David married great ladies, and I am honored to include each of them (and my adorable niece Julia and cutie-pie nephew Jackson) in my family.
Also not pictured is my step-mother, Mary Kay (because I do not have a picture of her on my computer and she stubbornly refuses to get on Facebook [my #1 source for pictures]). We've spent a lot of time at odds, and it is only as an adult that I've come to see her as who she really is. She doesn't pull any punches. You always know exactly where you stand with her. She is 100 percent Italian, and if one could be a higher percentage than that Italian, she would be. She is an amazing cook, has the hugest heart, and holds the fiercest sense of protection for the people she loves. She is a wonderful artist, extremely bright, and steady as a rock. It is only after becoming an adult that I realized that many of my holiday traditions are those which she taught me to own. I am so grateful to her for teaching me what it is to be a core family. She and my dad made sure that we kids were a part of everything. From Tuesday night bowling leagues, to soccer, to getting ready for Christmas Eve dinner, and cleaning the nightly dishes, I understand family togetherness through the context of the experiences she gave me. She taught me that kids deserve to be kids and that they only get one childhood. More importantly she taught me that it is a parent's duty to guard that childhood and make it memorable. My kids benefit from that lesson every day.
My dad. My parents separated when I was three years old. I lived with my dad in Houston while my mom tried to re-establish herself in New York. My dad was always my hero. Some of my very favorite memories of are of the time we spent together. He taught me how to swim and we spent tons of time in the pool. He took me to movies. He sat with me in the steam-filled bathroom combating my recurrent croup, patting my back while I hacked my lungs out. He put calamine on me when I had chicken pox. He made amazing crock-pot meals and the best lasagna in the world. When we lived far apart, he would just show up for a visit out of nowhere. He stayed involved. He stayed connected. He made sure that I was always his daughter and always a part of his life. Not long ago I commented to him that I really admired him for staying such a part of my life even though we lived 1300 miles apart. In the '70s, it was relatively socially acceptable for a divorced dad to leave the ex and kid behind and start anew. I mentioned that to him and told him that I admired him for sticking around. Know what he said? "It never crossed my mind to do anything but." My dad is a man of few words, but I don't need a lot of words from him to know how much he loves me. His actions tell me, even now. All the time.
My mom. She is the toughest to write about. She was the single person on this earth who knew me best. She taught me (and boy did I resist it) the strongest work ethic. She taught me to be generous to everyone. She taught me to be a friend to people from every walk of life. She taught me to be a chef. I can honestly say I learned more in her kitchen than I did in an entire formal culinary arts program. She was one of the most courageous people I've ever met, and also the most determined. She died eight years ago, at the age of 53, after a very long battle with a very aggressive form of cancer. Her death changed me forever. If I had to choose one thing that I miss most about her it would be that I would give anything for her to know my children. Anyone who knew her knew how amazing she was with kids. She loved children. She would have been an incredible grandmother. I don't have adequate words for how deeply I mourn the loss of that grandmother for my children. But, this is a grateful post so I will move forward. I am grateful for all the mommy-daughter dates spent walking around Greenwich village, eating chicken teriyaki at Teriyaki Chicken and Burger World, buying stickers for my sticker collection. I am grateful for summers on Fire Island, decorating my bedroom together, and making sure that I had amazing birthdays. I am grateful that she encouraged me to explore the things that interested me, taught me the value of a good garage sale, put me to sleep with "The Man in the Moon" and woke me with her off-key renditions of "You Are my Sunshine" and "Lazy Mary Will you Get Up?" I am grateful that she tortured me with CBSFM oldies and early Sunday morning drives to get bagels. I don't think anyone can fully verbalize all that a mom is. There is no substitute in the world for a mother's love, an I am grateful to her for the love she gave me.
My step-father is impossible to describe, but I will do my very best. I have known him since I was almost four years old. I've known him through his hippie stage, his Yuppie stage, and now his (as he calls it) senior citizen time. He views the world uniquely - with his own innocent cynicism. I know that's sort of contradictory, but he's sorta contradictory. He has a child-like enthusiasm for new friends, new experiences, and possibilities. He soul is exquisitely sensitive. He's an artist, a gentleman, and a gentle man. He was my advocate when my mom was too harsh. He helped me clean up from dinner when it was too much work. He always made sure that he was my friend, even when I was not a friend back. He took me to Coney Island. He took me out of school once or twice to celebrate beautiful weather and join him for a special beach excursion. He brought fun. I cannot entirely describe the joy of the connection we have. He is just my parent. And even though we're not biologically related, he is my family. I know of no other way to describe him.
There are a few people mentioned that I have yet to write about-- namely, my aunt, great-aunts, and my uncle. I'm saving them for my next post. So stay tuned, my truly dear readers. More to come. More to come.
