The conversation went like this 'I am never going to be one of those old guys crying into their pints about missing the auld sod'. We vowed this to each other when newly arrived on foreign shores.
Over the years this turned into the conversation we never had about how hard it was to adapt and change to our new country. It wasn't cool to say 'it's hard' out loud. It wasn't cool to say 'how do I figure this out', 'how do I make the transition?'.
So we'd meet in the pub on Friday night and someone would say 'where is Johnny?' and someone would reply "oh he upped and left for home yesterday'. Someone else would say 'he couldn't hack it' and that would be the end of the conversation.
We were all afraid, afraid that it was contagious, afraid to talk about how we really felt, afraid to prove we weren't cool.
An afternoon among the women poem
Growing up in a white world
When people say genealogy is boring
Anger and Truth
Where do you come from?
The House on an Irish Hillside book review
Mammies for Mariage Equality
Aw go on, say YES
Homeless in Ireland
When wide sky opens poem
I love my work
Celtic New Year
This small house
Rhythm & Rest poem
My small granny and other stories