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“He used to tell stories about his ‘odd upbringing.’ His famous line… was: ‘If you drove a car through a trailer park with a $20 bill on the bumper-- my whole family would chase after it.’ But it was always a joke. He never spoke of it as something painful. I think he was emotionally stunted like a lot of men of his generation—he never shined a light on the darkness. He buried himself in his work. He’d be at the office every weekend. We should have been spending that time together, but it was always: ‘Once I finish this paper.’ Or ‘Once I grade these tests.’ But when he was on, he was on. When I look at old pictures—we’re always right next to each other. And he always had a hand on me. He wasn’t shy about expressing his emotions. Except for the dark parts of him. One afternoon I found him sobbing on the back porch. He’d just gotten off the phone with his sister, and she told him that she’d been abused by their father. Mark only had one question: ‘Was I home at the time?’ And when she told him ‘yes,’ something broke inside of him. He had only been a child—but still he blamed himself. His drinking became more frequent. He spent a lot of time staring into the distance. But whenever I asked him about it, he’d say: ‘I’m thinking about this paper.’ Or something along those lines. We all have parts of us that we don’t let anyone see. That’s one of the helpful things the police detective told me after they discovered his body. Am I frustrated with him? Of course I am. We were together for forty years. I deserved a conversation—that he was in a bad place. I cared about him more than anyone else in the world. Was I not even worth a good-bye? But I’m not going to turn into a rage-filled shell of who I used to be. Because that would be the second tragedy of this. Whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed with anger, I just think of that eleven-year old boy. And I feel so sad for him. He’d been through so much and couldn’t understand his life. One morning Mark came out of the bathroom. It was a few years before his death, and he had tears in his eyes. ‘I’ll never shave my face,’ he told me. When I asked him why, he said: ‘Because then I’ll look just like him.’” Afficher la suite
The first copy of Humans has arrived, and I couldn’t be happier with… how it came out. So much of the design process was done remotely, and it could sometimes feel like I was working in the dark. Under normal circumstances, I'd prefer to hold the latest version in my hand every step of the way. But this time around required a lot of faith in the printing process. I had to trust that what I was seeing on the screen was going to translate into book form, and it did beyond my wildest expectations—thanks to all the rock stars at St. Martin’s Press. Not sure what kind of magic they did at the printer, but the photography has never looked better. And now that it’s in my hand, I can confidently say that this is the most beautiful HONY book yet. It’s also the longest. And the biggest. It makes me so proud, and I know you’re going to love it. If you’d like a copy, please consider preordering, as the first week of orders really helps lift a book. You can reserve a copy here: https://bit.ly/PreOrderHumansFB
Thanks everyone! Afficher la suite
“Both of my parents had this old Puerto Rican mentality that the mos…t important thing is your family. Even though we lived in the housing projects, I never realized that we didn’t have much money. Every birthday and holiday was a huge celebration. I always felt safe and protected. One of my earliest memories is having a fever and being tucked in by my mother. When I woke up in the middle of the night, she was still there—with a cold rag on my head. That’s just who she was. It was always: ‘What else can I do?’ ‘What else can I do to make them happy?’ And that’s the same way I felt when I had my own daughter. As fate would have it, I received full custody at the age of three. I was managing an electronics store at the time, but I knew I couldn’t be the father I wanted to be if I was working 60 hours a week. So I took a job making half as much money. But when my little girl looked at me and said: ‘I love you Dad,’ money didn’t matter. I wouldn’t get that same feeling if I scratched a million-dollar lotto. I’d have loved to have a big family, but it wasn’t in the cards. It’s always just been me and my daughter. She was my goal in life. I wanted everyone who saw her to think: ‘Wow, she is so well taken care of.’ When she went to school, I studied YouTube videos so that I could do her braids. It looked like a mess the first time I tried. It was just a bunch of hair twisted together. But after a few weeks, I could have opened my own salon. I was experimenting with different styles. And other parents were saying: ‘Wow! Her hair looks so great.’ Nobody knew her dad was doing it. My daughter grew into such a wonderful person. It’s been so wonderful for me to see. But I’ll tell you the greatest reward I was ever given. When my daughter was six or seven, we were playing on the ground playing with her dolls. And my mother was watching us. She was sitting on the couch, and suddenly she started crying. ‘You’re such a good father, she told me. ‘You should be so proud.’ And I still get goosebumps thinking about that. Can you imagine? This woman was my idol. She was the greatest mother in the world. And for her to say something like that—it was like getting a compliment from God.” Afficher la suite
