The Irish narrowback's corner

Funny thing about having parents that were raised on a rural farm -- they don’t really care if your hands blister over as you mow every lawn in the county, as I did in high school. 

In fact, their milky blue eyes dance with delight as they watch you peel the soft skin off of your fingers to reveal the angry red tendons throbbing beneath. As you soak your tired bones into the warm bath, they might throw in a treat and sit at the edge of the tub as they gleefully recount stories of bailing hay and digging up spuds for hours on end until they couldn’t feel their digits.

“What you did today would be a giddy holiday for us lot back home,” they’d say as they’d hand you a towel. 

At that moment, I’m sure I wanted to beat my folks to death with the plunger behind the toilet. But time has a funny way of making your parents look pretty smart. 

The way they taught me to appreciate the value of money is in sharp contrast to modern times, when most tweens are of the opinion that money comes from an endless supply in the ATM machine at the bank lobby.

I’m glad I never had helicopters swooping overhead. A good old fashioned Irish plow is far more effective when you’re paving your own way. 

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Nster.com