Tell me a story, Frankie

"If I were in America I could say "I love you, dad", the way they do in the films. But in Limerick they'd laugh at you. In Limerick you are only allowed to say you love God, and babies, and horses that win. Anything else is softness in the head."

--Frank McCourt, Angela's Ashes (1996)

Frank McCourt dies today. He is 78.

He is the writer behind one of the most unforgettable autobiographies I've ever read--Angela's Ashes, a Pulitzer-winning piece. I have one of his second book, 'Tis, but I like Angela's Ashes more because of the playful and childish tone of the book.


Angela's Ashes basically narrates his childhood from the Depression Days in New York to the slums of Limerick, Ireland. It is a fun and entertaining read and it enables me to peek into a traditional Irish family. (I will write a review of the book soon.)

In most instances in the book, I feel like reading not Frankie's story but my own. There are some instances, some thoughts that hugely reflect my own childhood. Yes, sad happy memories that I could not place definitely in the borders of my thoughts.

When I took in a sideline job a few months ago, I almost jumped with joy when my publisher told me that if things went smoothly, we're off to New York by December. For a while, my thoughts were on how to find Frankie and have my books signed. Yes, I like his book THAT much.

Unfortunately, my chance never came. But despite that, I will always be thankful Frankie drew his world for me, for everyone who values his writings. Maybe one day, I can write my own story as beautifully as his.

Rest in peace, Frankie. I'm sure people wants to sing your song, but you're the only one who can sing it perfectly. It's yours and yours alone, just like Maisie, Malachy, and the other people of your world have theirs.