51/366: Elena (Helen)

Raised during the Depression by Italian immigrants, she was too proud to let the boys be the only ones who served during the War. These days, her sweet, seemingly frail exterior hides a will of iron. She is 85 today. I love my mom more than anyone else in the world.

50/366: Zio Guiseppe (Uncle Joe)

Some years before his death, he vanity-published a badly printed, ghost-written autobiography titled Padrone. He talked and dressed loud, had "connections," stepped on toes, insulted people without realizing it. Shot in the heel in WWII, he called himself a “wounded veteran.” The type of Italian who gives Italians a bad name.

49/366: Zia Rosalie (Aunt Ro)

The youngest Fragomeni girl married the high-school football star. In later years, she began to dig deep into her family’s past, facing the secrets no one wanted to acknowledge. For that, she was pegged as “the nutty one.” Yet she was the most centered and self-aware of all her siblings.

48/366: Karen (2)

Best dressage instructor I’ve ever had. Knows how to get the best riding out of me. Typical Cancer: tough as nails on the outside, soft as puppy fur on the inside. She has cried for every single horse or dog who’s died. I feel honored when she lets me hug her.

47/366: Fred

So smart he may be a genius. Does algebra in his head, but can’t seem to perform the simplest tasks. As first child, he was given first choice of bedrooms. The message was clear: born last, I was least important. Yet (of course) I’m the one caring for our aging mother.

46/366: Tim (1)

In college, he was with the bitch-on-wheels history teacher. I always wanted to steal him away from her. His razor wit was hysterically funny, but I wouldn’t want to be its target. When he came out, it all made perfect sense, and now his sweetness has risen to the surface.

45/366: Perry (2)

For as long as I’d known him, Tim had lived in a loft or a warehouse. Never a house, an apartment, any “conventional” living space. Then the redhead showed up. They restored a Baltimore townhouse, adopted two greyhounds. When they put up curtains, I knew this one was here to stay.

44/366: Perry (1)

Funny as hell. Smart as a whip. Of secretive sexual orientation, not that it mattered. As a co-worker, he drew firm boundaries. But when I left the job, we finally became friends, or so I thought. We had some great times together, but one day he just stopped taking my calls.

43/366: John Harrison

We had the same birthday—same day, same year. I had a huge, lustful crush on him, of which he was completely oblivious. When he got caught with some pot, his attorney father stepped aside and let him go to prison. John was so beautiful. I still shudder to think about that.

42/366: Cooter

My Mac guru, my moral compass, my fellow riffraff at the worst job I’ve ever had. We fell in love at the same time, announcing it to my family, who’d always hoped see us together, and watching their eyes light up just before we added, “Oh—but not with each other.”

41/366: Peter

After my husband had left, I ran into him at a concert. He told me he’d heard, asked how I was. I was dumbstruck when he told me to call; he had his pick of women. I will never regret the six months I spent in his bed, restoring my self-esteem.

40/366: Howard

Such a nice Jewish boy, with such a wicked wit. We shared music, laughter, theater, pranks, advice on girlfriends and boyfriends. My confidant, my sidekick, my pal. We lived close enough to walk to each other’s houses. We both sang in the choir, but he was good enough to make madrigals.

39/366: Prentice

We’d take long walks in the woods. His hero was Thoreau, his music Days of Future Passed. His Army colonel father went beyond strict, to sadistic. He left Lise before the baby was born. Now he runs a pagan retreat in the mountains, but the damage has left its own legacy.

38/366: Paul

A local minister’s son, he’d take me into the church at night to sit on the altar and get stoned. Laughing, he’d regale me with lies about the virgins he’d deflowered there. Unlike mine, his rebellion never took violent or bitter turns. Despite his father’s best efforts, he was always joyful.

37/366: Mr. MacKenzie

What he taught me about music and singing has lasted the rest of my life. I heard he was diagnosed with MS and had a religious epiphany, convinced that a miracle would save him. I don’t know whether he realized that, as our music teacher, he'd made miracles happen every day.

36/366: Cheryl

As college housemates, we shared jokes no one else seemed to get. She’s the best storyteller I’ve ever known, and one of the best writers. She can pull me back to earth when I feel unmoored. She loves me no matter what. And even after thirty years, we are still laughing.

35/366: Ed

In college, we’d debate philosophical questions into the wee hours. Later, he’d always manage to drop by whenever he was in town, even if only for a drive-by hug. Later still, becoming a couple seemed natural, considering all the love between us. The timing wasn’t right, but the love’s still there.

34/366: Jon

My brother-in-law and I never liked each other, but one thing we always shared: butting heads with my dad. After his death, we began to see how alike we are. Now we share private jokes. I love him for being my sister’s rock. And he is the brother I never had.

33/366: Mark

Just after high school, before either of us had moved out of our parents’ houses, we’d spend hours in his basement room, amid his dad’s Cornell-like art boxes, getting stoned, setting things on fire, thinking up hysterically funny ideas. To this day, when I make him laugh, I feel so proud.

32/366: Dan

We worked together in a head shop, back when such things still existed. At twenty-one, both his parents were dead, their families nowhere in sight. He worshipped George Thorogood. When he was dying from cancer, we smuggled cocaine into the hospital, for his pain. At the funeral, the relatives suddenly appeared.