Growing up was nothing short of magical. My childhood was filled with family—so much family. We weren’t just close in heart; we were close in distance too. Within a two-block radius, my world was surrounded by the warmth of my aunts, uncles, and cousins.

My aunt, uncle, and cousins lived right upstairs from us, and just across the street was another set of family members—another aunt, uncle, and cousins. Everywhere I turned, there was family. It was the kind of childhood where you never had to look far for a playmate, a hug, or a seat at the dinner table.

Looking back, I don’t know how my mom did it. My father’s career as a drummer-turned-music-producer kept him on the road a lot, leaving her to handle everything at home. But even with his absence, my childhood was never lonely. It was full of laughter, love, and moments that have stayed with me all these years.

When I was first born, my parents lived just a few blocks from my maternal grandmother’s house. Her home was the gathering place for everyone. It was never just her house; it was our house. Every single day, family would stop by. My uncles would swing in on their lunch breaks, greeted by the smell of something delicious sizzling in the kitchen—usually her famous fried bologna sandwiches, the kind that crisped up perfectly in the pan. To this day, the taste of fried bologna takes me right back to that kitchen, sitting at the table, listening to my uncles swap stories between bites.

Our family was tight-knit, and that closeness only deepened when my father’s career started taking off. His recording studio needed to be in New York, closer to the city, and while that was great for business, it put even more strain on my parents’ already long-distance marriage. But they were each other’s best friends, always holding onto deep respect and unwavering loyalty. They wanted to make it work. My grandmother, seeing the struggle, offered us an option that would change everything: she asked if we wanted to move in with her for the time being. Of course, we said yes.

For me, it was incredible. My world expanded overnight. My aunt, uncle, and cousins already lived upstairs, and now with us moving in downstairs, my cousins felt more like siblings. The house was packed—so much love, so much chaos, so many memories being made in every corner. My grandmother still had two daughters—my aunts—living at home, which meant there was always someone around. The house was never quiet, never still. It was filled with the sounds of laughter, the clatter of dishes, the hum of conversation, and the occasional squabble over who got the last piece of something my grandmother had baked.She was even known to tuck away a pie, secretly saving it just for my uncle—her only son 😉

As the years passed, things changed, but our foundation remained the same. My aunt, uncle, and cousins upstairs eventually bought a house of their own, and my mom, my brother, and I moved into their old space. That house—the one that started as Grammy’s house—became ours in a new way. I lived there until I got married, and Grammy stayed there until she moved into what we now call the Grammy Pod.

These are just the beginnings of my memories, the first chapters in a story that is still unfolding. There is so much more to share, and I can’t wait to take you along for the ride.