Me, at three. 

In today’s edition of Facebook is a Gift, my second grade class photo. 

My grandfather was a veteran of World War II. He’d been on the Normandy coast, though he missed the gruesomeness of D-Day proper. 

In 1998, when I visited the graveyard there, I walked down to the ocean and collected some sand for him. I filled an empty film canister. (Remember those?) 

It was an eerie experience. I’m sensitive to psychic disturbances, and I could almost hear the crush of souls hovering in the air over Omaha Beach. When I got back to New York, I visited my grandfather and told him what I’d felt there. He was something of a mystic himself, so he understood. He believed in stuff like that. He was an inspired carpenter, and he often said that his creations just sprang forth from the wood. His hands were tools, he said, but whose tools, exactly, he was never quite sure. 

Me, my brother and Pyewacket, who was very very patient. 

This photo was taken the day my mom brought my little brother home from the hospital. 

So, two things. 

1. How hilarious is my dad? He’s like the lovechild of Buddy Holly and Woody Allen.  

2. How adorable is the way I’m touching his head?

Yesterday some people were posting their all-time favorite photos. My contribution was a wedding photo of my parents wherein they look like American Gothic meets Buddy Holly meets Annie Hall.

This is my OTHER favorite photo of all time. The little boy is my brother. The girl I’m sharing the chair with has been one of my very best friends since we were six months old. Her name is Gemma. Bean and I went to visit her a few weeks ago and she kept picking him up and studying his face and saying, I can’t believe he’s yours!

(She meant that in a nice way.)

Did somebody say all-time favorite photo?

Precursors of Bean. 

GPOYW Let’s Focus On How Pretty My Mom Is Here Because The Alternative Is Acknowledging That Baby Maria Looks Like Dick Clark Edition

Srsly, that’s not a wig. 

GPOYW Five Days Old Edition

One of my only regrets about delivering Bean in Grenada is that when he was a tiny infant it was simply too hot to pose skin-on-skin with him. At the time I didn’t mind but now I wish I had images of us that were half as intimate as this one. 

(I always feel funny when I use the verb “delivering” like that. As if the baby were a package from Amazon or perhaps some Chinese food.)

I went back and found and tagged all the stories and photos I’ve posted about my father’s father. It’s kind of amazing how much there is and how it happened without my ever making a conscious decision to write about him. Now I’m thinking about sharing some of it with my dad and my uncles, which would be an unprecedented event in the Santiago family’s history.

Also, another World War II army photo. He’s the one on the left. 

GPOY “On The Beach in Hawaii: Also, Too Young For You” Edition

I peaked early. 

I was going to write a clever caption but I find I’m overcome by the urge to bite myself.

My acting debut was at the age of four when Nyack Montessori did Peter and the Wolf. I was (obvs.) the cat. Check out how my hands are clawing that tree. And the subtle yet distinctly feline arch in my spine. That’s method acting, people. Method. Acting. 

GTKYBM

This is far and away my favorite photo from my parents’ wedding. 

It’s OK. 

Go ahead.

Be jealous.