Amma and I were there for Thanksgiving. Most of my family on my father's side lives scattered between Coral Gables and Deerfield Beach; this particular holiday, a few even came over from California. And so, I was reminded, yet again, that I actually spent a significant part of my childhood (before age seven, I should make clear) in the (not so) wonderful (un)scenic town of North Miami Beach. A warning for Claudia: apparently I gave my mother a horrible case of separation anxiety when I charged off to kindergarden without so much as a look backwards. She'd been expecting fear and tears, not "Other kids! Much chido! Outta here."
No pictures of my mother or North Miami Beach. But here is my father outside the best cigar shop in South (Miami) Beach.
He moved back down in 2005, but he had previously lived in Miami in the late 1940s, some of which involved ... let's give that another post.
I end on a warning and a request. The warning is that should any of the Europeans on this blog choose to visit Miami, do not bother to go to Little Havana (including Calle Ocho) unless you rent a car. You will be very disappointed otherwise.
The request is for holiday family get-together horror stories. Any holiday, any get-together. Anyone?