I was born in the suburbs of Chicago on the coldest day in its history since 1884, over a hundred years since. My father frantically smoked for as long as he could stand it before returning to my mother’s bedside. They separated shortly afterward, and most of my memories of that time were of fireflies during dusk after a long day of playing in the front yard, eating push pops during the summertime while my grandparents were feet away, posted in lawn chairs in front of the garage; in midwestern fashion. However, my life drastically changed when my mom remarried, and we moved to Florida at four years old to join my step-brother, four years my senior, and my step-father, Jeffrey Glass.

Growing up in Chicago, unless at a public indoor pool, our pools existed above the ground, and apparently, my first encounter in a warm, luscious Florida pool occurred the day I met my stepdad. For a moment, I was left outdoors, where I calmly walked into the pool, down the steps, submerging myself completely, and waddled to the middle of the pool. Jeff was inside and watched for a moment in disbelief before frantically running outside and jumping in the pool to rescue me. But that never stopped me from loving the water. I was quickly enrolled in swimming lessons at McGinnis.

For children in Florida, the magic exists in those sweet dog days between the school years. I adjusted well, snooping for lizards in our backyard on weekends, learning to water ski at summer camp, and no one could keep me out of the water from then on, chlorine or salt-infused. My new brother and I attended both McGinnis and Pinecrest summer camps in those glistening, humid months. We learned archery, ate brain freezing, bubblegum flavored ices, and eventually became a camp counselor. We would drive down to the Florida Keys, from Marathon to Key West. We devoured fresh Mahi, oysters, and Key lime pie. We bonded over violet, salmon, and orange paradisal sunsets. We dived with sharks, barracuda and were met by friendly manatees and their baby calves. We sailed on my stepdad’s boat, the Ko Ko Mo, and eventually, my stepdad and step-brother acquired a 15-foot Mako that cut through saltwater, someone in tow on skis or a waterboard.

My mom opened an animal hospital on Federal Highway, Family Pet Medical Center, where I spent some days after school and Saturdays. I helped foster kittens and ensured that the feral ones received enough benevolence and humanness that they softened into lap cats with vibrating purrs. I joined girl scouts, and my mom became a counselor, where I met my best friend to this day, Jennifer Smith. We camped, sung century-old campfire songs, ate beans and hot dogs, with Girl Scout cookies of course. My mom joined the Royal Dames, all-women comity that raises money for cancer research, and met Shay Schwartz, who, with her husband, Mikey, would later become a part of our extended family.

I would visit my father and grandparents in Chicago and my step-mom while my brother spent time with his birth mother and her partner. We both attended Virginia Shuman Young and would be transitioned to Sunrise Middle. In the wintertime, I learned to ski while he snowboarded as we vacationed in Steamboat, Colorado. I remember lugging my heavy snow boots and skis uphill, crying about how heavy they were, as to nowadays I await those winter months for a chance to hit the slopes.

We eventually moved from our house on A1A to a Key West-inspired home on one of the isles on Las Olas. We spent weekends rollerblading down A1A, pristine ocean as our backdrop. My skin turned to bronze, and my hair grew pale and long. There, I learned to skateboard and would board to the beach to read, write, and watch people. We had resident ground owls in our backyard that would burrow themselves in the daytime and hoot blissful sonnets at night. In the summertime, parrots, the color of emeralds infused with ruby and citrine, flocked to the royal palms outside of my window, making their presence known through high-pitched squawks. There was a house on my street, a peninsula named after the isle of palms that ran along the Intracoastal, which belonged to a botanist. She was able to grow flamingo-hued roses, and on the weekends, I would pick flowers from their yard and write love poems, calling for the love of my life.

Watching my mom and stepdad growing up and how they loved each other inevitably taught me that the meaning of life was love, no matter how hard it was or how much you had to fight for it. My brother and I are both romantics because of this, satisfied by the simplicity of our souls reflected in another. Our childhoods both were altered just a year apart; I lost my birth father, and his birth mother also passed away. All of a sudden and uncontrollable, a bit of childhood paradise was taken from us.

As I aged into my teenage years, I, of course, began to clash with my mom and Jeff. At times Jeff and I found ourselves so close I wanted to follow in his footsteps as a lawyer, and others we just couldn’t find common ground. I frequented Commercial Pier during the summer, where my girlfriends and I would bake in the Florida sun and shelter under the wooden pier when the afternoon thunderstorms encroached and boomed. We vegged out on French fries and clams or breaded calamari at Aruba’s restaurant. We filled up on giant burritos and cheesy quesadillas at Zona Fresca and ate everything under the sea on Las Olas.

At night my mom would drop us off at the local rock venues. The Culture Room was our most frequented venue and, of course, the Vans Warped Tour, where we saw bands like No Doubt, Rancid, Blink 182, and Red Hot Chili Peppers. During the school year, I volunteered as a water girl for the JV Football team at my high school, Cardinal Gibbons, where I was able to root for my friends from Sunrise Middle and, to this day, Reid Santiago and Kimon Voyages.

My brother moved out with his girlfriend while I was in high school, and they ended up marrying and having a son, Jordan. Around then, Mike Schwartz was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and roughly a year after his death, Shay was diagnosed with the same and joined him not long after. This rocked my family, and again we found ourselves with two profound deaths that occurred so close together. Around this time, Jeff pulled me aside and told me that I could always rely on him no matter what, even with our disagreements.

After I graduated high school and began college, I started working at Birch State Park as a city Segway guide. I was lucky enough to work for a great boss and with my friend, Jennifer, where we gave guided tours down A1A, stopping for delicious ice cream and retelling the history of Fort Lauderdale. From the oldest Florida home, the Stranahan House, to Hugh Taylor’s journey from Chicago to Florida and the artistry of the Bonnet House, to broad-rimmed leaves that natives used as sun hats to mangroves that soak up saltwater and disperse of the sodium on their leaves which were used to spice foods. We picnicked on the Intracoastal and under the giant banyons, fig trees and biked under the hardwood, green canopies.

I completed my Associate’s Degree in Journalism at Broward College shortly after meeting my future husband, who had recently graduated from Florida Atlantic University. I had always dreamt of returning to Chicago, and attending Columbia College had been a long-time aspiration, so soon after Brian snagged an internship and we became engaged, we decided to move. I left my tropical haven to make a home in a concrete jungle and complete my degree.

My mom and stepdad bought a Trawler and actually traveled the Great Loop, which is made up of waterways that looped from (for my parent’s journey), from Florida, along the East coast, through Maryland and Delaware, up through New York and up the Hudson and down Lake Michigan to the Mississippi and spit out in the Gulf of Mexico. Shortly after that, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I spent a winter break with her in Florida, where she battled and beat it.

When I felt homesick, I, of course, called my mom, but I called Jeff just as often and in moments of complete adult despair. Brian and I took full advantage of Chicago; we haunted the Art Institute and every other museum and historical building. We lived in a tiny apartment that overlooked the city. After weathering three winters, I graduated Cum Laude and Brian and were met with our next stage; planning our wedding and another move, this time to Arizona. We had a few options as to where to get married, but feeling nostalgic, we returned to our roots and picked a compound, Alligator Reef Estate in Marathon Key.

Ideally set in the sweltering month of May, but with both of our families and friends that had grown close over the years, it felt like a tropic reunion. Deep purple and pink bougainvillea surrounded the grounds with leafy wild mangroves and palms strung with twinkling lights. Jennifer was my maid of honor and joined us with her husband and future business partner (they recently committed to opening a gym on Oakland Park Boulevard). Before Brian and I said, “I do,” I took my parents aside and told them that I wanted to let Jeff know that no matter what, after 26 years of raising me, he’d always be my father. I gave him the papers to adopt me because even at 29 and no matter where I lived, I’d always be his little Florida girl.