When Johnny Gallagher punched me in the face, I cried and ran home to my mother. When I dropped the baseball, St. Monica’s lost the tournament, and the other boys taunted me with jabs and wedgies, I said nothing. One day, the principal told me I wasn’t smart enough to go to college, so I swallowed and thanked God for the blessings I had. And when Father said I must go into the priesthood and serve God, even though I knew meteorology was my calling and Kathleen Conaghy wanted to marry me, I complained to no one.
But when my only niece left the family one day, when she married an Anglican, and six months later a healthy little girl was born, I drew the line. None of us ever spoke to Agnes again – until her husband died. By then, it hurt less.
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