June 16, 2013

Radio Flyer Wagon: Father's Day Memories


Thirty-three years ago, my father, George, passed away on a cold day in March and will always be missed. On this Father’s Day, I’d like to share some memories.

Turning back the dog-eared pages in the book of one's life that hold cherished memories of times gone by, I am a young girl laughing with my sisters as Dad pulls us in our Red Radio Flyer Wagon. What fun, well, fun for us anyway. I don’t imagine it was a light load pulling four young daughters in that wagon but Dad never complained; he always smiled for us. As he pulled us along, we chatted to each other excitedly the way young children do, jumping up and down in giddy delight whenever the wheels hit a bumpty bump on the sidewalk, and enjoying the warmth of the sun on our faces. We were off to the neighborhood general store for crayons and coloring books.

Coloring was my favorite pastime next to reading; my sisters loved to color too. Brightly-colored waxed crayons worn down to the stub would be in need of urgent replacement, something Dad always understood. The store was a just few blocks away but why walk when you can ride in fine style in the chariot of wagons. 

Red Radio Flyer Wagon similar to the one we had. 
We were very close in age, my mother had four daughters in five years, and we’d later have two younger brothers. Four girls, close in age and close to each other, which made the parting when we were later separated at the orphanage and then into different foster homes after my mother was hospitalized all that much harder to bear. But that would be a few years away and I cannot pause at that place in my mind too long lest I get entangled in the cobwebs of fractured dreams, so I go back to the ride in the Radio Flyer Wagon.

Being the oldest, I’d hold my youngest sister, Theresa, just a toddler, on my lap. My second sister, Mary, would be giggling as my third sister, Rose, made funny faces; Rose liked to be the clown. When I grew too old for the wagon, I’d walk beside my father while my younger siblings rode. Walking beside him felt very grown up. Those fun jaunts in the Red Radio Flyer Wagon were a heavenly respite from the trauma of life at home with an unbalanced, mentally ill mother. I think my father knew it; I believe that’s why he took us on those excursions to the general store for coloring books and crayons, where the kindly store owner gave each of us a lollipop from the glass Mason jar behind the counter. 

With my sisters in New Brunswick, New Jersey.
(L to R: Mary, Madilyn, Theresa, Rose)
The days of red wagon rides were over when my family moved from the housing project in New Brunswick to a home in Bridgewater. That house was near a highway in a rural area, no sidewalks, no neighborhood general store nearby. One brother was a baby when we moved and my youngest brother would be born after we moved there. Regrettably, my younger brothers never had the chance to experience those rides to the general store in the Radio Flyer Wagon. I feel fortunate to have that memory of the wagon rides with Dad and my sisters.

I savor all my memories of my father. Those memories are beloved treasures wrapped in crayon-colored ribbons of sun-drenched yellow-orange, warm Indian red, and midnight blue. For everything that transpired in our fractured family life, when I remember coloring books, crayons, and the red wagon, I smile and remember my Dad.

Dad when he was young (by car, hat in hand) with his parents and sister.
(Providence, Rhode Island)
My father was born in Providence, Rhode Island, back when Model-T cars shared the streets with horses and everybody knew their neighbor. His father, James, owned a butcher shop and his ancestors had traveled from England to America in Colonial times, settling in Massachusetts and Rhode Island. On my father’s side, we are distantly related to Sarah Peabody Hawthorne who married the author Nathaniel Hawthorne (“House of the Seven Gables,” “The Scarlet Letter,” among other works) through my great grandmother, Ann Eliza Peabody (who married John Henry Leonard). Dad’s mother, Madeline, was the daughter of Irish and Portuguese immigrants. Sadly, my siblings and I never met our paternal grandparents. Both died within three month of each other, long before we were born. Dad spoke lovingly of his parents and was proud of his roots.

There were lively stories of his youth spent playing baseball in the streets with his friends and going down to the Providence River with buckets to clam-dig with his older brother, Bill. He’d save the money he made from a paper route to attend Saturday afternoon picture shows. Dad could recall when silent films became talkies and was a fan of Mary Pickford and Charlie Chaplin. His family home in Providence was across the street from where the songwriter and entertainer, George M. Cohan (“Yankee Doodle Dandy” and “Give My Regards to Broadway”), once lived.

Mom and Dad before I was a twinkle in their eyes.
My father, George, was thirteen years older than my mother, Carmela, so my parents came from two different generations. They met when he was stationed in New Jersey during World War II and married right after the war. However, it would be another five years before my mother had children. My father was 44 when I was born and I’m the oldest of six.

He had no idea about my mother's bipolar illness (her family was not about to tell him and they were in denial themselves, as it turns out); he had no idea of what was later to come. As I wrote in my Mother's Day post, I never knew my Mom in the way one would normally know a mother because I never knew my mother when she was not mentally ill. But I did get to know my Dad as a loving father, and the time spent with him in those early years was a bright spot in an otherwise difficult childhood.

Three years after giving birth to my youngest brother, my mother was hospitalized for a nervous breakdown. It was summer so we were home from school, six of us between the ages of 12 and 3. My father needed help caring for the children at home while he was at work. He begged my mother’s family to help but they refused. In their Old World Italian views, my mother’s mental illness was an “evil-eye curse” and they disavowed themselves of her and her children. Next, he appealed to the parish priest, requesting that Catholic Charities send a woman to help out during the day while he was working. Instead of sending someone from Catholic Charities to help, the priest called in social services. That’s how my siblings and I ended up at St. Michael’s Orphanage, taken there by social workers while my father was still at work.

A few years ago, after connecting with others from the orphanage, I discovered that Catholic Charities had an arrangement with parishes in the diocese back then to send children whenever possible to the orphanage (a diocese could profit handsomely from donations for orphans.) Of course, that was never disclosed to my father and he trusted the priest. Once in the hands of social services and made wards of the state, some of us were eventually sent to different foster homes. Our family life was fractured, never to be whole again. The series of events broke my father's heart. The rest of that story is for another day.

With my Dad when I was just a wee one! (New Brunswick, New Jersey)
On this Father’s Day, I can smile as I remember my Dad and those rides with my sisters in the Red Radio Flyer Wagon. Dad often liked to hum tunes as he pulled us along, especially Irish lullabies his mother sang to him when he was a child.

To my Dad, Happy Father’s Day! Playing an Irish lullaby and thinking fondly of you.



©2013 JerseyLils2Cents. 

40 comments:

  1. Thank you so much for sharing these precious memories with us. I hope you hold onto those magical rides on the Red Radio Flyer Wagon. (I'm sure they sparked your imagination in those days). Those pictures are beautiful and this is a precious tribute to your loving father. I

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    1. Julia, I am so glad you enjoyed the post. The Red Radio Flyer Wagon did spark my imagination back then, and again when I think about it all these years later. Getting out and riding in that wagon was a big deal to a small child. Oh, to a child’s imagination, you are seeing the world when you’re only going down the street! Thank you about the photos too, those memories are precious.

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    2. A child's imagination is a wonderful treasure. Precious!

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    3. Yes it is! Thanks, Julia. :)

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  2. A family initially of 4-girls; now, that must have been something! Then 2-brothers. Some lovely stories there. & you the eldest Madilyn; something I can relate to.

    Such beautiful words & pictures. I look @ the picture of your father & mother, & feel for him in particular. A wonderful father it seems, with a cruel surprise in store.

    It must have been heart-wrenching for him to deal with your mother's demise, then with you guys split up & placed in different foster homes.

    How do we deal such things?

    A wonderful bitter-sweet post Madilyn. Simply beautiful.
    Cheers, ic

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    1. Ian, thank you about the post and photos. Yes, a bittersweet story; “bittersweet” is a good word for it. It was truly heart-wrenching for my father to not only witness the demise of the wife he loved, but also seeing the children he loved being sent off and split up into different foster homes. And then, of course, we have the betrayal of the parish priest and the rejection by my mother’s family. Over the years, I’ve realized how the primary family focus has been on my mother and her illness, and rightly so, but the pain my father must have suffered has been overlooked. I needed to write that for him. I appreciate that you could feel for him in particular.

      Interesting that you’re the eldest in your family too. The perspective of an eldest child in a family is unique I think, because growing up you’re always somewhere in between having to be the mature one and just being one of the kids. In my case, being the eldest was such a valuable position; I got to spend the most time with my father before everything completely fell apart when I was 12. Those bonding years with my father made all the difference in helping me develop a more positive outlook in life despite all that happened later on. Cheers to you, too.

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  3. A wonderful post Madilyn! Like ic said, a bitter-sweet story. I love how you began it with sweet side. I wish I could be in that Red Radio Flyer Wagon! The picture of four of your sisters is just way too cute! It's heartbreaking to know all of you had to go to orphanage. I like how you input some family history. It's so sad that your family fractured due to your mother's mental illness. And it's also very sad to know that your mother's family refused to help. You father must've had a incredibly difficult time! I am already starting to wonder you "another day" story. I think you have good materials for a great biography.
    Thanks for sharing your memories. I love true stories better than fictions, because reality outplays our imagination. Always!
    Love the song by John Gary.

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    1. Yun Yi, thank you, and I am happy you listened to the John Gary Irish lullaby. My Irish grandmother (who I sadly never knew) sang that to my father, and he sang it to us. It’s a lovely tune. The Red Radio Flyer Wagon was a fun memory. Thank you about the photo with my sisters! Yes, what happened was bittersweet and heartbreaking. I was always stunned by the actions of the priest, and even more so, the total rejection by my mother’s family and their misplaced Old World views on mental illness. My father did have an incredibly difficult time and I only wish some of my siblings would try to understand his position in what happened. When I say my family was “fractured” I mean it in more ways than one.

      As I write these posts, I am considering that I may have material for a book one day. You are so right, true stories are better than fiction.

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  4. I loved your story Jersey and you look beautiful and your story brought back some of my own childhood memories b/c my dad also use to pull us in a red wagon at times. I am not sure if it was a Red Radio Flyer Wagon but I think it was. :)

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    1. Angie, thanks so much. I am delighted my post brought back childhood memories. I bet the red wagon you had was a Red Radio Flyer Wagon, they were very popular. What fun that your dad used to pull you in a red wagon too. So glad you stopped by.

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  5. My heart aches for those 4 little girls being pulled in that wagon, and for the man pulling it. What difficult circumstances were ahead for them all... I'm so glad that you have those wonderful memories to sweeten the harsh realities of those later years - but I know that your experiences have made you into the warm-hearted, compassionate person that you are, Madilyn. Thank yo so much for sharing your heart and your memories with us as you chronicle various parts of your life experiences!

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    1. Melody, I appreciate your words so much, thank you. Wonderful memories like the rides in the Red Radio Flyer Wagon certainly did sweeten the harsh realities of our difficult childhood. It is sad that my younger brothers did not have that memory as well to sustain them. My youngest brother barely had the chance to bond with my father before the orphanage years. It was the kind of childhood that will either make or break a person and I chose not to be broken. I feel the early years with my father, having some good memories, helped me to have that strength.

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  6. How odd, last night I dreamt of our my mother was giving away our Red Flyer. I love this post even more than your last Father's Day post. Your image brought back memories of me pulling my kids in our wagon. I too, was a ward of the state, tho for different reasons. Your love and warmth for your father comes through here. I'm glad you have some fond memories in spite of such a troubled past.

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    1. Donna, thank you so much. That is so odd about your dream of the Red Flyer Wagon you had as a child, dreaming that just the night before you read my post, interesting (hope your mother didn’t really give it away; I think one of my sisters has the wagon we had as kids). I am so glad this post brought back good memories of pulling your kids in a wagon too. Yes, I remember you were also a ward of the state for different reasons, although no less painful to recall. It is something you and I can understand.

      I was close to my father and the time I spent with him is the main reason I have any good memories at all of my childhood, so this post is my tribute to him. Thanks also for letting me know you liked this Father’s Day post even better than the one I did last year. Besides writing about the red wagon memories, in this post I wanted to explain more about what happened to our family.

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  7. Madilyn, Having read your story, I am ready to forgive Thomas Hardy for writing those relentlessly poignant tragedies. I am sure those unforgettable rides in Red Radio Flyer Wagons are deeply etched in the hearts of the sisters. Those beautiful photographs speak volumes of small joys snatched out of the gloom and chaos of your combined lives.

    I could almost hear your father crooning an Irish Lullaby as he pulled you all to the neighbourhood store. May his soul rest in peace.

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    1. Thank you, Umashankar. Ah yes, you’ll have to now forgive Thomas Hardy for writing such poignant tragedies lol! (“Far From the Maddening Crowd,” a masterpiece). Those rides in the Red Radio Flyer Wagon were indeed small joys snatched out of the gloom and chaos of our childhood. I am glad you liked the photos too.

      Memories of my father singing those Irish lullabies is a good memory as well. Those little neighborhood stores hardly exist here anymore. A whole big city has now been built up around where that little store used to be, but I am glad that store existed when it did back when I was young.

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  8. Madilyn, I know this had to be painful for you to write. You, your siblings, and your father survived unthinkable tragedy and betrayal: your mother's illness, her family's shunning of her and her children, your father being deceived by the Catholic Church in his desperate request for assistance with childcare, social services making you wards of the state and farming you out to different foster homes. You found solace in those crayon-colored Red Rider memories, those "normal" moments where you and your sisters got to be happy-go-lucky little girls who felt very loved by their father. Treasured memories like yours gave you hope and courage in an otherwise intolerable situation, illuminating the darkness of uncertainty and loneliness. No child should have to endure what you and your siblings did, and it makes me feel angry that the Church betrayed your father's trust. Your father seemed so compassionate and involved with all of you, and it sounds as if he did everything he possibly could to care for you himself. I'm glad you have such fond, happy memories of him. I loved all the photographs in this piece, too. Thanks for sharing this lovely tribute to your dad.

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    1. Kris, thank you so much. Writing this post was very difficult but I felt I needed to write it for my father. My mother’s illness was only the tip of the iceberg in the story of what happened to fracture my family. All the cumulative events, the shunning by my mother’s family, the deception by the parish priest, social services making us wards of the state and farming us out to foster care (and two of my siblings never even got foster homes, they stayed with nuns or in terrible children’s resident facilities), it all took a heavy toll on our family unit. Finding “solace in those crayon-colored Red Rider memories,” and finding the few “normal” moments from my childhood was so important to maintaining sanity amid the chaos and tragedy. Those moments do give hope and courage, so true.

      It is stunning to think that six little children once so close had to endure all that. I appreciate your anger about how the Church betrayed my father’s trust. That it could even happen that way comes as no surprise now to those of us former Catholics who know the history of the Church.

      Yes, my father was a compassionate man who loved his wife and his children, and the entire experience of what happened was a terrible dilemma for him. I am afraid some of my siblings are not able to fully understand what happened and why it happened, they were so young when it all fell apart. I am so glad you loved the photos too, thanks.

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  9. Madilyn, your posts move me to the point of speechlessness. Every word seethes with the sensation of real life. I think of Shelley when I read your poignant words and stare at your equally poignant photos: "The sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought." I get the same feeling when I watch a movie that touches me deeply and fills me with powerful emotions. I imagine writing as you do about your past must be a great catharsis for you. Your father, your mother, your sisters, the Red Radio Flyer Wagon-what joys, what sorrows, what memories, what beauty!

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    1. Marty, I sincerely thank you. I really love that quote by Shelley: "The sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought." Ah, so true! Writing about my past is a great catharsis. I never intended to write about any of it when I began blogging; my original intent was to write a light-hearted blog about humor, dogs, recipes, and my general bit of two cents on this and that topic. But the more I write about the past, the more the memories come flooding in and the writing just flows. Now I am even considering a book one day. “What joys, what sorrows, what memories, what beauty,” thank you for those words.

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  10. Madilyn, Such an incredible story and the betrayal by the priest is beyond comprehension but common nonetheless -- there are many stories about similar acts here and in other countries. Thank you for sharing these experiences through your writing.

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    1. Thank you, John. The betrayal of the parish priest is beyond comprehension, I agree, and no one would believe it unless they knew the history of the Catholic Church. Even then, it is stunning. I can see from your comment that you have an idea of what I’m talking about. Yes, they have committed similar acts here in the US and other countries, and very sadly, it is all too commonplace. Thanks for stopping by.

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  11. That went from charming to dark inside half a page. Getting sold down the river like that is a horrible thing to do to a family.

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    1. Big D, thanks, I appreciate your comment. We did get sold down the river and it was a terrible thing to do to a family. The post did go from charming to dark, and I hesitated doing that but needed to explain what happened that caused children to go from happy rides in a red wagon to an orphanage and foster care. There is much focus on my mother’s illness in my family, but less focus paid to what my father went through and I wanted to look at that, to give a fuller picture of him. Those rides in the Red Radio Flyer Wagon were a good memory from the past.

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  12. I just don't even know what to say. You know I know your background with your mom, and how you and your sibs got 'pieced off.' My goodness, sweet one, all I can do is offer my sincere compassion and admiration for you and what you have come from.

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    1. Thank you, Charlene. This Father’s Day post is the other bookend after writing my Mother’s Day post (and I appreciate the beautiful comments you left there). With this post, I wanted to not only write a good memory of my dad, but also the how and why of what happened in our family. I really appreciate your comment.

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  13. Madilyn, what a raw, honest post. It flowed so well, and I admire you for being so candid about your past! Not always easy to bare one's soul that way. Bravo and very well done.

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    1. Michelle, thank you. That a fantastic writer such as yourself would call my post “raw” and “honest” and say that it “flowed so well” means a great deal to me. Writing a candid post about these bittersweet memories without coming across too maudlin is what I had hoped to achieve. I know from reading your blog that you truly understand about baring one’s soul. I sincerely appreciate your comment.

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  14. I love your wonderful smile, when your Dad is holding you.

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    1. Thanks so much, Angelika. That is one of the few photos I have with my father back then and I treasure it. Being with him made me smile.

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  15. Madelyn, I am so glad that you have those wonderful, cherished moments with your dad. And how you were able to see some sunshine and rainbows during those dark and stormy days. I hope that you and your siblings were able to stay in touch and find each other after all you went through.

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    1. Kristina, thank you. They are cherished memories and I feel fortunate to have them. My siblings and I are in touch, although not as close as we would have been had we been able to grow up together as a family. Those memories with Dad will always be special to me.

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  16. Wonderful post. So sad. Unbelievable (well, sadly not that unbelievable) behaviour by the Catholic charities. You clearly derive much strength of character from your father.

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    1. Thanks, Dale, I appreciate that. So right, as unbelievable as it seems, the behavior of the Catholic Church comes as no surprise when we know what they have done in the US and other countries (such as the recent case of the orphanages in Ireland). I tried to derive strength from the strength of my father. I think recalling happy times like the red wagon rides really helps.

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  17. What a wonderful man your father was to try so hard. So sad for all of you...outside forces often think they know best when they really know nothing at all...Also re your dad, You gotta love a guy who can appreciate the benefits of a good ride over a walk!

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    1. Zoe, thank you for your comment. So true about outside forces thinking they know what’s best but actually knowing nothing at all. My father was a wonderful man, and I think it was very creative of him to think of wagon rides to the store instead of walking. Thanks for joining my blog! I’ll be over to visit yours.

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  18. I am sorry to hear of your father's tribulations, how hard it must have been for him. People who have responsibility for others' lives have such a burden, and they should be aware of it rather than treating it like a job. Mental illness is such a curse and ruins so many lives. I am really glad that you have such good memories of your dad, who looks from his picture, and sounds from your lovely reminiscence of him, to have been such a likeable man.

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    1. Thank you, Jenny, I’m so glad you stopped by again. Everything that happened was very difficult for my father. Yes, mental illness ruins so many lives and tears families apart. My father was a very likeable man and I cherish those memories.

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  19. I can just imagine all the fun rides you all had on the Red Radio Flyer Wagon. What a wonderful treat it must have been. It's amazing how much entertainment you got out of it, compared to some of the gadgets the children have nowadays.

    I felt so sorry for your father to think that he was doing his best to help and keep the family together only to be betrayed by the church. He lost all his children through trust, and I can just feel how much his heart was broken during those times. The church should have been there to help and not destroy. It's also worse to think that your siblings were all divided up and sent to different places. You'd think that an organisation would at least have enough sense to see it was a related family unit and keep you all together.

    Despite all what you have been through, it's nice to know that you have kept some very precious memories of fun and laughter during those times. Riding the wagon with dad pulling, colouring, joking around with your sisters, getting lollipops from the shop etc. It's those loving moments that keep us going sometimes.

    Your dad never gave up on any of you, he loved you all dearly, and had to work to make ends meet. I'm glad you wrote about him and remembered him for Fathers Day. This truly is a brilliant post JerseyLil and I really liked the photos and enjoyed listening to the touching video of the Irish Lullaby.

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    1. Rum-Punch Drunk, thank you so much! And thank you for putting the link to my post on your Father’s Day blog post. Those rides in the Red Radio Flyer Wagon were great fun and a special treat, one of my best childhood memories.

      I really appreciate your kind comments, and your empathy for my Dad. He had such faith in the Church; he took us to Mass every Sunday and prayed for my mother. The betrayal by the parish was stunning (but from what I’ve learned from others, not altogether surprising). He worked very hard to make ends meet (sometimes working two shifts at a factory job), and he loved his family. Yes, he lost his children because of his trust in the Church, truly heartbreaking! And so wrong. The parish should have provided charity and comfort, helped to keep the family together. That’s not what they did. There is nothing acceptable or charitable about their behavior.

      You are so right about how cherished memories are what helps to keep us going. I can’t change the past, but I can pause and warmly remember my father and the rides with my sisters in the red wagon. I am so glad you enjoyed the photos and the Irish Lullaby too.

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