Memories of Childhood

 
 I read with sadness today that Frank McCourt, Pulitzer Prize winning author of Angela's Ashes, died. In Angela's Ashes, McCourt told the true story of his childhood, mostly in Ireland. As Mr. McCourt states, "When I look back on my childhood, I wonder how I managed to survive at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood; the happy childhood is hardly worth your while."

With an alcoholic father who drank up whatever small earnings he did make from odd jobs, Frank's family was often living "on the dole" in very substandard conditions. Lacking food or any kind of health care or even the lowest form of hygiene, it is a wonder that Frank survived to become a rather renowned teacher of English in the high schools of New York City. Angela was his mother, a woman who miraculously survived the early deaths of some of her children, her husband's abuse and neglect, and her poverty.

Our book club read this book a few years ago and we had a rather lively discussion over the characters. After reading it (and getting over my anger at Frank's father), I felt so thankful for the childhood that I had. I have to disagree with McCourt - I think a happy childhood is worth a great deal. I'm not sure we have to suffer as Frank did to appreciate and learn from our childhood days.

Most of us can say we always had a warm bed and shelter and food to eat. I didn't go to lessons of any kind, I didn't travel all that far from home much, and I didn't have a myriad of toys or clothes, that's for sure. I knew I was loved, not only by my parents, but by my wonderful extended family as well. And isn't that the most important thing that children need to know? I think that is what saved Frank - his mother's love.

Frank McCourt survived more than any of us can imagine. He didn't give in to the external forces that could have easily swallowed him or turned him into a bitter man. There's much to be learned from his story. I'm ready to read it again.