Domestic Interior

No Irish Need Apply

No Irish NeedApply Dear Stephie, Thank you for the birthday card. Here is five dollars for you. Love,Poppie It made me weep— the right word for it— the jagged hand, the loose and careful eighty-eight-year-old’s letters— this note I found from when I was a grandchild. d I didn’t grow up with caricatures of ape-faced drunkards in ads; nor was I accused of a Popish plot, wouldn’t face life as an old biddy or a wet-nurse Because of the anonymous work of persons like my grandfather. We did not think about shamrocks, letter bombs, or dark brew, nor was anyone teary-eyed about the old country; We lived far away from the three-decker neighborhoods with Mary statues and drunken uncles. d He was very, very old. He was from another country. He was ancient, and lived forever. He always sent us money. And of course there were Mary statues and drunken uncles, even in L.A.; And bitter sisters who never, ever spoke again, not even would their children, fifty years later. (Money.And mother loved her better.And being high-and-mighty.) Orphan, selling newsprint on the streets Back East: the story. 15 The room is paneled in serene and deep wood—I don’t know what kind—and the fire. And he told us the story, but we never got the answers. How old are you? They sent the relatives boxes of oranges at Christmastime. What happened to your father? He was very, very old, even when I was a child. How did your mother die? Here’s a dollar for you. He ended his days in the hands of an angry offspring. I never really felt anything. And he kept his secrets. He left the world with his secrets. Here’s a few dollars for you. Buy yourself a new doll. The other day I found a note and —but I was little—will you forgive me, reader? Not old enough yet to be grateful, Not grateful yet that no one ever asked me to be grateful. And that no one ever asked me to thank any lucky stars. No Back East. He was ancient, and he lived forever. We had enough.We had a land of plenty. 16 ...