Finished reading Angela’s Ashes by Fran McCourt. His musings about his miserable childhood in Ireland and how his parents should have stayed in America. He struggles to understand the world he’s growing up in, the father who inspires and fails him, the teachers who forbid him from asking questions, the Catholic priests who both condemn and absolve him, and how he plans his escape from Limerick.
A “fine fist” in the old country meant you had beautiful handwriting.
McCourt’s nine-word lesson it took him sixty-six years to learn: Sing your song. Dance your dance. Tell you tale.