Born American, I came to live in Brazil when I was 14. My maternal grandparents had lived for some 30 years in the US, where they raised their five children before returning to their birthplace and extended families.

At age 26, I owned an agency with a partner, Alice, married to my husband’s youngest uncle. One day, my beloved and personable grandfather came to visit me and to see my new office. He was always very supportive and interested, and I was thrilled to see him. Busy as usual on the phone, I smiled noticing that he was chatting with Alice. They had already met on other occasions but had never had a chance to get to know one another.

Unbeknownst to, or even suspected by any of us, but following myriad bewildered facial expressions and puzzling verbal exchanges, Alice exclaimed, "Are you the same John Paul who used to visit an Aunt Amasilia in Jacarei with a Jerry Branch?" My attention was piqued.

"None other," nodded Granddad, beaming. I pricked up my ears while he explained, "Aunt Amasilia was married to my mother's brother; therefore, to my maternal uncle!  We, Geraldo and I, used to visit them often. Why do you ask?"

"Because Geraldo Ramos was my father!" she stammered.

"Wow, how cool," I thought. She must have heard many stories from her father about his childhood and youth, especially about his best friend, John Paul. I wanted to hear more. For my grandfather, reminiscing and sharing warm memories to such earnest ears warmed him in an embracing glow.

Having listened dumbfounded and entranced to the ensuing flow of ties and delightful reminiscing, I was struck by the realization of how small this world really is. I had only met Alice when I was engaged, yet here we were not only partners, but family as well!

Later, Alice confessed, "I could never understand and always found it so weird that all of you were always at all of my important family gatherings, weddings, funerals and the like."