My grandfather grew up in a horrible orphanage in Ireland. Recently I was in Florida (hence the orange drawing) with members of my family. One of my aunt's was telling me that the school that Frank McCourt goes to in his great book, Angela's Ashes, was the same place my grandfather was send to as a kid. So I reread it. It is quite brilliant, funny and tragic all at the same time. Just like Mr. McCourt, I'm sure my grandfather was glad to get out of that scary place. He went through a lot so that his grandson could eventually sit on a beach in the winter sketching oranges while it snows in New York.
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