Last summer I upgraded my Internet service to wireless. The cable company sent a young technician out to my home to conduct the switcheroo. He was late showing up to do the job. I had to call to find out his whereabouts after the first hour and a half of the two-hour window I was given had come and gone. Honestly, I think he overslept. I have no confirmation about that. My observation is based on intuition and the fact that he looked half-awake when he arrived.

After 15 minutes, I had a wireless Internet connection. Even though I was running late to work, I asked him to take a look at my cable connection because I was having issues.

“Are you Italian?” he asked, about the small-framed picture (next to my DVR) of my family, taken in California the year I was born.

I smiled and said, “No. I’m black.”

He, on the other hand, did look Italian. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to be nosy.

“Oh. That just looks like a typical Italian family,” he said.

I took that as a compliment. Italians are known for being family-oriented and close. I suppose that is how we look in the photo.

My Uncle Julius, Aunt Jill and my dad are standing behind the couch where my Aunt Debra, holding my cousin Aisha, is sitting next to my Grandpa Julius, Grandma Adele and my Mom who is holding me. My sister, Nicolle, and my brothers, Ralph, Jr. and Sean, are sitting on the floor.

On the back of the picture it says, “For Ralph + Mary” in Grandma Adele’s handwriting.

My grandparents are no longer with us.

I don’t remember the picture being taken but it fills me with warmth and love each time I look at it. We were all together. We were all well.