A father (mid-fifties) and son (maybe 18?) walk side by side through the underground pass leading to Wilson subway station. I’m a few paces behind, not really paying attention when suddenly I’m startled by how similar this father-son team is. They are the exact same height, not even an inch off, they are slouching at the same angle, their hands are in their pockets with elbows protruding forcefully outward (not sitting naturally). Their walk is the same, heel-toe-heel-toe, and their steps are in perfect unison.
Normally, I wouldn’t notice this kind of thing but I think The Juggler’s Children might have something to do with it. It’s got me thinking a lot about heritage, DNA, family, ancestors. Do my mother and I have similar mannerisms? How much is my brother like my father? How about my sister? What genes will my niece get? How much do I really look like my father? My Nonna? My great-great-great Avoa? Am I Portuguese and Italian or is there some other nationality hiding in the mix?
What family secrets are hiding in documents, in DNA, in diaries, in memories? Are there any?
What is the story behind the Grillones? The Camachos? What do they have to do with me? How can I find out?
…another subway ride, another thought