all for Joey

I've been thinking a lot about who I would dedicate the book to - if and/or when this becomes one - because you're supposed to dedicate it to someone, right? At least that's what they tell me. It's that sentimental first page where there is a quote that's way too serious and a loving declaration to the person you supposedly owe your life to. My friends are already in it so screw you guys I've had enough with writing about all of you. Just kidding, not really, but really - I think it'll go out to Joey.

He's the man who taught me what it's really like to feel love, to be loved and to love in return. If you spent any minimal amount of time with the gigantor you knew how proud he was of his family, especially his grandchildren. We were like his grand prizes for successfully conquering his life. I mean, c'mon, you couldn't catch him talking about anything else.

Growing up I heard so many stories and harsh examples about how he wasn't the easiest or even the best father but with us he had a chance to start over. We were fortunate enough to never have to witness that side of him, and I'm thankful my mom never really told us the gory details to salvage our image of him.

I swear you could tell whenever he arrived to anyone's house -  you could already feel his happiness radiating from outside, from down the street even. His doofey smile as he struggled to get those long legs and weak lungs up the stairs. He would always be so anxious to come and greet us all. "Poppy's here" he would like to announce, as if we couldn't already feel him towering over us. He'd yell at you for coffee at some point, and hug you and kiss you and call you the wrong name. And beg you to tell him all the bad things you really do in the 'big city' and "I bet it's scary living by yourself" because it "can't be safe for my beautiful grand daughter, Lauren, I mean Paula, Olivia, Jill.....Julia, JULIE. What the hell is your name?" That doesn't even tell you much about him, but I'm too greedy about my memories with him to share them all with you. Maybe that'll be my next book.

What kind of 80 year old can you confide in about your tattoos before your own mother - that's who Joey was (sorry mom). And if you had the opportunity to meet him you know what I'm saying, and you know how fortunate you are. He touched so many of us with his greatness and he left behind such a legacy, such a name for us to live up to. How could I dedicate it to anyone else?

I swear this blog will get up and running within the next two weeks or so. We're planning a friendsgiving, post thanksgiving, prechristmas pajama party and feast. If you show up without pajamas on Cous will escort you to the street. Bryan (the funny one) is bringing the coquito, Caleb said something about pie (challenge accepted), Pilar will pull through for Steph and Chels, depending on what time they get there, and rumor has it I have to make a turkey. It's going to be the most cultured, spanish and anglo-saxon-white-privilege day fiasco you ever did see. Here's hoping we're even lucid enough to document it, that shit is toxic (coquito I mean, and probably our cooking).