There is no doubt in Liz Dolan's mind where her urge to write came from. Her old man never shut up. He had the Irish gift of the gab which often drove her nuts. Sometimes he was hysterically funny, sometimes deliberately cruel. In hindsight, Liz believes all of the bluster was a cover up for loss, especially that of three infant girls and a son at five years old. Still, her father's voice haunts her reverie; still she laughs and cries. Collected here are the anecdotes that not only bring either laughter or a tear to the eye, but also help to paint a portrait of perhaps one of the most important and influential people in a young woman's life: her father. This is the first in the new Untreed Reads Essay Series, giving a voice to authors for short commentaries on all categories of nonfiction.
What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
138th Street ached afternoon bacon beer black homburg block bolted boss brother Butchie canisters Castlewellan connection counter County coworkers cream Cypress Avenue dead right death dictatorial didn’t dishes doin doors Dougherty elegant embarrassing exit Family heirloom father favorite possession feet Flaherty flew front furniture gave Geez gift give gold pocket watch grade hadn’t hair He’d head heart hell I’d say Irish irreverence jealous Kilcoo kitchen knew little boy lived look Michael Mickey middle mighty Clare mirror miss Monsignor morgue mother’s move neighborhood never Northern Ireland overstuffed Paddy the Blue parish patience pawn pawn shop Pop’s prized possession Railroad remember Saint Luke’s sandwich Saturday scalp scorn shallow sister Mary skull slice sobbed strike me dead talk tapped telegram tell thirst toast torture tweed cap wanted wondered Woolworth’s yelled York you’re jealous