I forget sometimes that much of the world is emotionally constipated. A person may care, but they don't know what to say or do. Mr. McCourt has many troubles. Mr. McCourt has lost his family, had a miserable childhood, and little or no faith. He repeats so many instances where he wants to tell someone that he cares or that he'd like to help. He doesn't know how.. until one day he does. That made the book worth reading for me. I really enjoyed it.
There's more too.. I love an Irish Brogue, who doesn't? I listened to Mr. McCourt read this on tape. Fun. There are lots of light parts and lots of sad parts. There's regret.
In his autobiography Mark Twain complains that no one can really write one b/c they simply can't admit what a monster they've been. He's normally right about that. I edit my own journal thinking.. when I'm dead someone will read this, and by then I won't be so stupid, or petty or whatever. But subsequently, only the best of me is on paper. It's not a realistic picture. Mr. McCourt is brave and tells things you won't admire. And, I kept thinking, I would have loved to take his class, but would I want my daughter in it... hmmm? I always want her to be surrounded by people who are strong and sure in their faith, but that isn't realistic. Her faith will have to be strong enough to be around people and care about people who've lost theirs or maybe never had it.
In the end though.. my favorite moral of this tale is... It's a little embarrassing sometimes, but so freeing to tell people you love, that you care, that you're sorry, they are in your prayers, that you are thrilled for their success, that they are wonderful, that you love them.
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