November 18, 2015
This week The POP Newsletter presents the writing of Walter F. Curran, who submitted this essay in response to the writing prompt “Thanksgiving.” Many thanks to Walter for sharing his writing with us.
Yeah, that’s right, transition, not tradition.
I am from South Boston, unavoidably, indelibly Irish. A few Lace Curtain types but mostly pig-shit Irish regularly ensconced on their corner pub thrones. A chronic forum for ridiculing the Lace Curtain Irish, claiming disdain but evincing envy. The Lace Curtains in turn behaved the same toward the Boston Brahmins. No one happy being themselves. Only the Irish!
Like so many great stories of strife and triumph, this one begins with my dear friend’s bowels. We were sharing an apartment in Evanston, Illinois, and one morning in June, Kathleen woke up with some intestinal issues. Perhaps it was the several beers she drank the night before or the midnight snack at the Burger King next door—whatever it was that had upset her stomach, it was extremely inconvenient.
Normally I wouldn’t be concerned with Kathleen’s bathroom habits. To each her own, I say. The trouble was, on that morning she was supposed to drive me to the airport so I could catch a flight to Denver. The plan was simple: I would wake her up when I was ready to leave, a little over an hour before the flight, and...Read More
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