Malachy up there on Dad’s shoulder, looking back at me, tears on his cheeks and Dad’s teeth bulging in his mouth.The doctor at Barring- ton’s Hospital says, No bother. He pours oil into Malachy’s 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,That’s 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 he’ll 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 can’t 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,You’re going to dance. Dance? Why? You’re seven years old, you made your First Communion, and now ’tis time for the dancing. I’m taking you down to Catherine Street to Mrs. O’Connor’s Irish dancing classes.You’ll go there every Saturday morning and that’ll keep you off the streets.That’ll 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 can’t pass a canister or a rock without kicking it. She’s 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 it’s never too early to learn the songs and dances of your ancestors. What’s ancestors? Never mind, she says, you’re 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, Don’t get smart or I’ll warm your ear. 140