Malachy up there on Dads shoulder, looking back at me, tears on his
cheeks and Dads teeth bulging in his mouth.The doctor at Barring-
tons Hospital says, No bother. He pours oil into Malachys mouth and
has the teeth out in a minute.Then he looks at me and says to Dad,Why
is that child standing there with his mouth hanging open?
Dad says,Thats a habit he has, standing with his mouth open.
The doctor says, Come here to me. He looks up my nose, in my
ears, down my throat, and feels my neck.
The tonsils, he says. The adenoids. They have to come out. The
sooner the better or hell look like an idiot when he grows up with that
gob wide as a boot.
Next day Malachy gets a big piece of toffee as a reward for sticking
in teeth he cant get out and I have to go to the hospital to have an oper-
ation that will close my mouth.
On a Saturday morning Mam finishes her tea and says,Youre going to
dance.
Dance? Why?
Youre seven years old, you made your First Communion, and now
tis time for the dancing. Im taking you down to Catherine Street to
Mrs. OConnors Irish dancing classes.Youll go there every Saturday
morning and thatll keep you off the streets.Thatll keep you from wan-
dering around Limerick with hooligans.
She tells me wash my face not forgetting ears and neck, comb my
hair, blow my nose, take the look off my face, what look? never mind,
just take it off, put on my stockings and my First Communion shoes
which, she says, are destroyed because I cant pass a canister or a rock
without kicking it. Shes worn out standing in the queue at the St.Vin-
cent de Paul Society begging for boots for me and Malachy so that we
can wear out the toes with the kicking.Your father says its never too
early to learn the songs and dances of your ancestors.
Whats ancestors?
Never mind, she says, youre going to dance.
I wonder how I can die for Ireland if I have to sing and dance for
Ireland, too. I wonder why they never say,You can eat sweets and stay
home from school and go swimming for Ireland.
Mam says, Dont get smart or Ill warm your ear.
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