YAYA, A 5-FOOT, 73-year-old ball of energy, darts around us, flitting in and out of the room, each time entering with a pile of photographs. There’s Yaya as a 7-year-old—decades before her daughter and my wife, Ana, came along—beaming from the top of a float festooned with posies. Another photo captures her aboard a wagon honoring Costa Rica, finger firmly inserted in her nose. “Ofelia de la Garza, my godmother, put me on a float for Charro Days every year,” Yaya says.
Ana and I lie in bed, having driven to Yaya’s house on South Padre Island late the night before with our 2-year-old son, Tommy, who’s watching Thomas the Train at the foot of the bed. Yaya shows us another photo: my wife at 3 in a China…