Brandon Stanton's Blog, page 51

HUMANS will soon arrive in all its glossy splendor. It’s 450...

HUMANS will soon arrive in all its glossy splendor. It’s 450 full-color pages of stories collected on the streets of cities around the world. A nostalgic throwback to the era when American passports actually allowed you to pass through ports. Perfect for anyone who misses traveling, talking to people, going outside, and days where you actually put on a pair of pants. But in all seriousness, it’s a book of fascinating people, wonderful stories, and deep emotions. I spent almost ten years on it. And it’s everything I could have hoped. If you preorder now, it will arrive on your doorstep on October 6th. Then you can immediately douse it in Lysol. 

Preorder here: https://bit.ly/PreOrderHumansFB

“Alex’s father left for good when he was eighteen months old. I...

“Alex’s father left for good when he was eighteen months old. I was doing the single mother stuff. Working at a daycare. Home all the time. Trying to be a really great mom while also trying to fix myself. I remember the first Christmas I spent alone. I was finally in a good place. I was still hurting, but I didn’t want him back anymore. And that New Year’s Eve was the first time I met Jose. He was a friend of my brother’s. We started talking every day. He’d come over for dinner. I think he was tentative around Alex at first. He’d get on the floor and try playing with him, but Alex couldn’t speak yet. So there wasn’t much of a bond. Then the ‘terrible twos’ came. And Alex would throw a lot of tantrums. Jose hadn’t been around kids before, and he didn’t want to overstep. I think he was unsure of his role. But after he decided to move in with us, I told him: ‘I want you to make more of an effort with Alex. He’s part of me.’ And that’s exactly what he did. He didn’t always know exactly what to do. But he brought home diapers and milk, even when nobody asked. He played cops and robbers, and nerf guns, and video games. He came to the parent teacher conferences. That year our whole family went to the Christmas play at Alex’s school. And after the performance, when everyone was taking pictures, a classmate asked Alex where his dad was. And he pointed at Jose. I was the only one who saw it. But when I told Jose later, I could tell that it affected him. Alex still believes that Jose is his dad. And I’m dreading when I have to tell him the truth. They’re so attached to each other. Jose is not the most emotional guy. But whenever Alex asks for a hug or a kiss, he’ll always give it to him. Even if it’s twenty times a day. He’s always saying: ‘I love you too, Papa.’ That’s just how he is. He reciprocates. He’s rarely the first one to express his emotions. But a few months ago we were having breakfast. And somehow Alex found a picture of me holding him at the hospital, right after he was born. He carried it over to Jose, and asked: ‘Where are you? Did you take this picture?’ Jose looked at it, and he started crying. Then he said: ‘Yes, Papa. I did.’”

“I was married once before. It was a 300-person wedding in a...

“I was married once before. It was a 300-person wedding in a massive Catholic church. With a big, grand dress that cost $1400. It was a fairy tale dream and I thought it was perfect. But within a year, things started to feel off. He became increasingly critical of me. And I found myself getting more and more subdued. Then a year into our marriage, he told me that he was having an affair. Suddenly I was thrown back into the whole dating thing. It was like: ‘Oh no. Not this again.’ But a few years later I met Thylar on an app, and right away things felt different. He accepted things about me that had been rejected in the past. Superficial stuff, like TV shows and movies and bands. If I wanted to put a Dr. Who decal on my car, he wouldn’t question it. He was even more eccentric than me. Thylar is obsessed with a convenience store called Buccee’s. Their mascot is a beaver. He loves that beaver. He has like twenty mugs with that beaver on it. Both of us were coming from a similar place. We’d both dealt with infidelity in the past, so neither of us were in a rush to get married. We enjoyed taking things day-by-day. And we went on like that for two years, until one morning I woke up to the sound of Thylar groaning. He was kicking his right leg into the air. When I called 911, the dispatcher told me he was having a stroke. I rode with him in the back of the ambulance. He kept pointing at his eyes, then his chest, then at me. He began squeezing my ring finger, and tapping it. I knew what he was trying to say, but I just chalked it up to panic. Even after his recovery, I never brought it up. Because I didn’t want him to feel pressured. The next summer we held a live music benefit for his medical bills. After the third song, Thylar walked up to the microphone. He told everyone that he’d learned a lot from his experience. And that if you find a bright spot in this world, you should hang onto it. Then he proposed to me in front of all our friends and family. We were married two months later. It was a spot where we loved to go hiking. Far off the trail, deep in the woods, beneath some great arching trees. There were only two witnesses. And I wore a $75 dress.”

“We were together for three years. He wasn’t a bad person. He...

“We were together for three years. He wasn’t a bad person. He worked hard. He was charismatic. But he was hiding a major drug problem from me. There were violent episodes. He once choked me in a hotel room while we were on vacation. He broke my phone. He tried to rip up my passport. Then on the way home, he dropped to one knee in the airport and asked me to marry him. That was the pattern. We’d get in a huge fight, then after a few days he’d ‘love bomb’ me. He’d say that he needed me. And that he’d never get better without me. So I’d take him back, and the cycle would begin all over again. One Monday morning there was a knock on our door. It was my mother, and she told me that my sister had been pulled over by the police. She was battling a drug addiction of her own. They found empty needles all over her car, and my two-year-old nephew Robert was placed into foster care. From that moment on, all I could think about was getting him back. But it was nearly impossible. I had to complete an eight-week certification course. I had to rent a two-bedroom apartment in San Francisco, which I couldn’t even afford. And everyone living with me had to pass a background check. I knew that my boyfriend had a misdemeanor for domestic violence. So I had to make a decision: him or Robert. And I chose Robert. I officially became his foster parent in October of 2018. Ever since then I’ve been focused on his healing. He can’t verbalize yet. Sometimes he has tantrums and I just need to hold him tight. He’s been through a lot of trauma, so he needs me. But I needed him too. I’d still be stuck in the cycle if it wasn’t for Robert. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I needed to learn to be alone. I needed to learn that chaos wasn’t normal. The last two years haven’t been easy. The whole family is chipping in. My mom is working two jobs to help with rent. Everyone is under a lot of stress. But it’s a lot of peace too. I’m not walking around on eggshells anymore. I’m not terrified of being alone. I’m enjoying my solitude. Last June I got baptized, and I feel like I’m becoming a new person. My life has a purpose now. Robert’s adoption went through on March 10th. So I’m officially his mother.”

“Technically he was there. We ate dinner together every night....

“Technically he was there. We ate dinner together every night. But he wasn’t exactly ‘available.’ He’d go on these long trips alone, to Peru, and China, and Mexico. And even when he was home, we’d only do things together that he found fun. He enjoyed linguistics. And etymology. And architecture. He was always telling us that houses should be circular because it’s the most efficient shape. But we were just kids. We weren’t interested in that stuff. We wanted to watch cartoons and play baseball. And that’s the stuff he didn’t show up for. It wasn’t malicious. He grew up in The Soviet Union. And his father was a heavy alcholic, so he didn’t know any better. There was nowhere for him to learn parenting skills. When I was thirteen my parents got a divorce. My father finally got his own apartment and his solitude. But suddenly his kids weren’t readily available. We were living separate lives, so he had to learn to initiate. He had to express a desire for companionship. It was very difficult for him at first. He’d use a lot of sarcasm. Instead of saying: ‘Can we eat dinner together?’ He’d say: ‘You can’t cook. You need my help.’ He began to manufacture reasons for us to be together. A couple years ago I got a text from him saying that he’d bought a plot of land. Apparently he’d been watching a lot of YouTube videos, and he was ready to build his circular house. But he needed our help. We’ve been working on it for over a year now. We laid the foundation ourselves. We cut down all the trees. It’s been a lot of work. But more importantly, it’s been a lot of time together. There’s still a sarcastic hint over everything. There’s a lot of: ‘Come over here so I can show you how to do it.’ But we’ve also had some deeper conversations. When we’re in the middle of building, and we need to break the silence. He’s learned to be more direct. He’ll tell me about problems he’s having. He’ll ask for advice. And he’ll even ask for companionship. A few months ago we were finishing up for the day, and he told me: ‘I know you’re busy, but if you come over and watch a little TV with me, especially during the winter, it would help me a lot. Because I’m completely alone in that apartment.’”

“We met in the sixth grade. She was such a positive person, the...

“We met in the sixth grade. She was such a positive person, the opposite of me. When you’ve gone your whole life without hearing ‘good job’ or ‘I’m proud of you,’ it sort of leaves an empty space in your mind. And you fill in the blanks with your own guesses about what people think of you. For me it was always something negative. But Makenzie was the opposite. I called her my bush baby because she had these bright eyes and would always be smiling. And I still see her that way. She’s a little more drained now that we have kids, but she’s always been a constant source of positivity. Even as my depression got worse and worse. People say: ‘It’s so selfish what you did. You have this great family. Why wouldn’t you want to be a part of it?’ But that’s the thing. I never felt like I deserved to be a part of it. And it got to the point where I thought everyone’s life would be better if I removed myself from the equation. Makenzie freaked out when I came home from the hospital. There was a lot of crying and hugging. A few months later, when the dust had settled, we were sitting at the kitchen table. And I asked her: ‘Were you upset with me that day?’ She looked at me with tears in her eyes. And she said: ‘I need you.’ She told me that without me she wouldn’t have her best friend. And that going to bed at night would be harder. Something about that moment made it easy to believe her. It wasn’t some planned speech. She just said it. And that’s my goal in therapy right now. To believe what people say about me. It’s really hard for me to say good things about myself, so that’s the best I can do right now. If you ask my kids, they’ll tell you they have a great Daddy. They’ll say he’s really nice. I know their problems can seem immeasurable to them. So if they’re crying, even if it seems like there’s no reason, I’ll sit with them as long as they need. Am I a good husband? That one is harder to answer. I’m afraid that I take more than I give. And I never want Makenzie to feel like I’m her fourth kid. I want to be a team. But I’ve gotten to the point where I can trust her to tell me. And she says I mean a lot to this family. She says we’re a team. So that means we’re a team.”

“We were vacationing on a lake in Arkansas with another family....

“We were vacationing on a lake in Arkansas with another family. My dad went with his friend to hunt for quartz crystal. And the two mothers decided to take the kids out on a pontoon boat. The sky was clear when we left. Nobody knew a storm was coming. Then the wind began to blow. And the waves picked up. And one of the little girls fell off the boat. My mom jumped in to save her but only the girl survived. I have memories, but they’re only snapshots. I remember boats surrounding us. I remember the little girl lying on the floor of the boat. I remember sitting on someone’s lap, and sobbing hysterically. But I was only two years old. So I wonder if I invented these memories. There’s two more that I have, from before that day. I can see my mother getting ready in the bathroom. And I can see her driving a car, and turning around to touch my feet. But that’s all I have. And I can’t even be sure that they’re real. I wish I’d made more of an effort. I wish I’d bothered my father more about it, but I didn’t want to add to his burden. He just seemed so exhausted. He died of lung cancer when I was nineteen. And unfortunately my main concern at that age wasn’t learning about my parents. All I know is that my mother loved to write. And sew. And that she hated living in Houston. But these just seem like things. They don’t seem like a person. I don’t know why my dad loved her. I don’t know where they had their first date. I can’t even tell you their wedding anniversary. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know why I was brought into this world. Like it’s an accident I even exist. And it’s been hard. Life has been really hard for me. And I’m constantly comparing my life to what it could have been. There’s an envy there. I’m jealous of the person I’d be if my mom hadn’t jumped off that boat. I’m jealous of the life I would have had, even though I can’t know what it would look like. I do have one video. It was taken the day I was born. My mom’s holding me and my dad’s holding the camera. It’s the one thing I have with both my parents together. They both look so happy that I was born. It’s my only proof that I didn’t just appear one day. It’s a sliver of the life that could have been.”

“I thought studying in the US would be easy. I’d attended a UN...

“I thought studying in the US would be easy. I’d attended a UN conference in high school, so I already had a visa. I begged my father to let me go. He finally agreed and took out a loan to buy me a plane ticket. I arrived with $150 in my pocket, and stayed with a Gambian family in Maryland. For two months I visited schools, asking for financial aid, but nothing was available for people like me. I began to accept the reality that I would need to go back home. There was one last school called Montgomery College. It was a five-minute bus ride from where I was staying. And when I visited the campus, I learned about a scholarship for international students. But the deadline was approaching, and I would need to submit my application that day. I searched everywhere for a computer. I walked through the hallways looking for any door that was open. And that’s how I discovered Professor Rudin. She was sitting at her desk. She had currency from all over the world hanging on her wall. I noticed a bill from Gambia, and that’s how we started talking. I stayed for two hours. I told her my entire story, and by the end we were crying and hugging each other. Kelly researched the scholarship and learned it wouldn’t work out. But that night she spoke to her husband Tom, and they decided to pay for my school fees. They gave me money for food and clothes. Kelly drove me to Best Buy and got me a phone, and then added me to their family plan. I’m still on that plan today. For two years I lived with the Rudins. Every morning Kelly made me breakfast, and we drove to school together. She and Tom became like my parents. And her children became like my siblings. They hung pictures of me around the house. They helped with my entire education. When I graduated from Georgetown, they even paid for my father to attend the ceremony. He was so overwhelmed when he arrived. He gave Tom the biggest hug. It was such an emotional moment for me. I thought about how it all started—begging my dad to let me come to America. And here I was, four years later, graduating from Georgetown. My father was with me. And he was thanking the two human beings who took me in and called me their daughter.”

“My grandparents had a tiny house, but it was full of love. And...

“My grandparents had a tiny house, but it was full of love. And there was structure. Breakfast was always at 8. Dinner at 5:30. And there was an expectation that this would happen every day. It created a buffer from the chaos in my home. It was never an official adoption, but I stayed over there as much as I could. My grandfather was an entertainer. He’d sit for hours on a bench outside the grocery store, and strike up conversations with strangers. He’d tell them how he served in the Navy for thirty years. And how he survived Pearl Harbor. He’d even been reported dead in the local paper. As I grew older, these stories became more detailed and more emotional. On the holidays he’d have a couple beers, and he’d sit with me, and he’d start crying. He’d talk about the things he’d seen and the friends he’d lost. He told me that when his ship was bombed at Pearl Harbor, one of his best friends was stuck in a stairwell, and he had to make a choice to leave him behind. I’d already moved away for college by the time my grandfather died. And my grandmother passed away soon afterward. It felt like I’d lost my two lifelines in the world. My mother cleaned out their house and took all their possessions, so I had little to remember them by. Then a few years ago I started researching my grandfather on the internet. It was coming up on his birthday, so I was searching for a little bit of connection. Maybe just an old crew member that he’d served with. But what I found made my whole world stop. An old Ebay listing came up. My grandfather’s military jacket had been auctioned to the highest bidder. For $62. It was like a punch to the gut. I felt betrayed. So much childhood trauma came swirling to the surface. I was scared to reach out. I didn’t want to overstep or seem vulnerable. But I emailed the highest bidder—a woman named Deborah in California. We arranged to speak on the phone. And after a few minutes, both of us were crying. Her grandfather’s uniform had been lost too. And she’d only bought the jacket as a way to feel close to him. Not only did she agree to return it, but she arranged for a group of local veterans to escort the package to the post office. It arrived on my grandfather’s birthday. When I got married the next year, we set aside two empty seats for my grandparents. And I was able to wrap his jacket around one of the chairs.”

“I’d never given it any thought. But when my boss’s husband got...

“I’d never given it any thought. But when my boss’s husband got a kidney from a newscaster in town, it sorta became a local story. And I began to learn more about it. I found out that a kidney from a living donor can give someone more than twenty years of life. And there were 2500 people in Ohio on the waiting list. So after confirming that I’d still be able to drink, I signed up for the registry. Two months later I got an email saying that they’d found a match. They’d only say that it was a local man. But I was excited. I think I needed a little purpose in my life. I didn’t have any children. I didn’t have anyone to carry on my whatever. And I loved thinking that I could help someone in such a major way. Not everyone meets their donor. But since both of us agreed, a meeting was arranged for after the surgery. They sat me in a conference room at the hospital. I had no idea who was going to walk in the door. And when Tom walked in, I could only think one thing: ‘Oh my God. I’ve given my kidney to Wesley Snipes.’ He was really quiet, so I did most of the talking. But at the end he said: ‘I only have one question. Why would you do this for someone you didn’t know?’ And I said: ‘Why not?’ After that it was like a light switched on. We were going to be friends forever. That’s just how it was going to be. Tom became like a brother to me. He makes fun of me a lot, but he’s also extremely protective. Not that I’d ever need someone killed, but if I did, I’d know who to call. Three years after the transplant I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a nasty kind. And I didn’t have any family around. But Tom called my sister in Florida and said: ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got this. It’s my turn to take care of her.’ He took me to every single one of my chemo appointments. He kept me company the entire time. A few weeks after my treatment ended, I threw myself a 50th birthday party. At the end I gave a little speech. I was looking out at all the people I loved. All the people who’d helped me. And I couldn’t even speak. I turned into a big sobbing mess. Tom got up from his chair and walked to the side of the stage, and grabbed my hand. And he held it until I could speak again.”