the living breathing family

As I get older, I've come to realize a new meaning behind family. I've began to look it at as it's own breathing thing. Like the people that make it up, a family grows and progresses through time. Weaving its own story.

When I was little, I'd sit and listen to accounts of everyone's pasts. I learned about everything: their parents, how they fell in love, the moment when their children were born, and so on. At the time, it was all just tales; none of it concepts that I could fully grasp and understand. 

But as I begin to go through these things myself, I see. I understand how profound it is to fall in love. I get it when people tell me they remember me as a baby. I have a new niece and she's everything to this family. Watching my big brother who used to trap me under the blankets and fart on my face become a father is surreal. I think about the blood flowing through his daughter's veins, and how it's tied to my own. I dream about her future and the journey of watching her grow. Doing so, puts me in the shoes of my aunt who has done the same with me. I realize now what time means, and how it morphs these relationships we have to one another.

When I was little, I never understood how things would change. We go through the toughest moments with our family and sometimes they can be the ones that test us the most. On the other side, nobody knows us better or loves us more. I laugh when I hear myself making a joke that my mother would make, or when I see my brother acting with the same stubbornness that I do. We are inextricably similar in ways that come back to our simplest of spirit. At the same time, we teach each other and grow together through our differences. Love, is being tied together regardless. 

As the years morph, it's not that the bond becomes stronger, we just become more conscious of its existence and its meaning. Watching my direct family grow in lovers and offspring is an exciting new phase that has brought a lot of fun. There will surely be stages after, as there have been for the generations before us. Our job is to keep the family organism alive and breathing. I'm beginning to understand the meaning in doing so.

my father

My father is a funny man, but oh how I love him for it. He has a passion for the miniature, and ever since I was a little girl he’s been a model train hobbyist. It’s insane, really. He builds these enormous setups, constructing mountains, buildings, and railways. Down to the last detail, everything is so lifelike. Little lights even change in the stop lights, and small people animate the town. He collects special engines, sometimes going as far as to pick up rare models when we go to Europe that aren’t available in the US. He puts a lot of work and time into building these little fantasy lands, and then he plays. As my mom preps dinner I linger at her side, and the whole time we hear the echo of steam engine hoots. Getting him to dinner (his second favorite thing after trains, is eating) is like ripping a child away from a brand new toy. Last time I was at home, we sat in the train room and watched him go at it. It’s funny to remember the days when I used to jump at the chance to help him build a miniature house, or to pick out people for the town. I remember those trips to the hobby store and the all-encompassing fantasy that would sweep you up. All grown up now, I may have lost a tiny bit of that feeling. The fact that my father has been able to maintain such an untouched imagination through the years is something very heartwarming to me. In a way, he’ll always be a kid. A very large, bearded, kid. I hope that a part of me will be able to follow in those footsteps.

These photos are of his most recent projects, taken over Thanksgiving vacation.

Love you, Babbo!