By Michael McLoughlin
[Editor’s Note: With the publication of his story today, we welcome Michael McLoughlin as the latest columnist to join our staff. The story also launches his column, “Songs of an Irishman.” His entry in the sidebar tells us a bit about him. Thanks to Columnist Roger Owens for introducing Michael to us.]
About four or five years after my father passed away, my mother found a poem in the newspaper about how one’s name is passed on from father to son and we should keep our name clean and not let it fall into disgrace. She asked me to make an enlarged copy for her at work, which I did. I kept a copy myself and put it above my desk at work. I read it, and then just forgot about it, and it hung there among the many other items pinned to my board.
[Editor’s Note: With the publication of his story today, we welcome Michael McLoughlin as the latest columnist to join our staff. The story also launches his column, “Songs of an Irishman.” His entry in the sidebar tells us a bit about him. Thanks to Columnist Roger Owens for introducing Michael to us.]
About four or five years after my father passed away, my mother found a poem in the newspaper about how one’s name is passed on from father to son and we should keep our name clean and not let it fall into disgrace. She asked me to make an enlarged copy for her at work, which I did. I kept a copy myself and put it above my desk at work. I read it, and then just forgot about it, and it hung there among the many other items pinned to my board.
