The Last of My Kind

On a trip to Dublin, I realized I’ll never have the kind of family those around me seem to have

Photo courtesy of the author.

In our house, there was only one voice, my mother’s, and it was the loudest sound. It was louder than the dishes she hurled at the wall on Thanksgiving when my father and I inquired which one of the breaded cutlets was veal because we were too hungry to play detective…