I Am Teaching. Storytelling Is Teaching

Sing Your Song. Dance Your Dance. Tell Your Tale.

He Says, You Have To Study And Learn So That You Can Make Up Your Own Mind About History And Everything Else But You Can’t Make Up An Empty Mind. Stock Your Mind, Stock Your Mind. It Is Your House Of Treasure And No One In The World Can Interfere With It. If You Won The Irish Sweepstakes And Bought A House That Needed Furniture Would You Fill It With Bits And Pieces Of Rubbish? Your Mind Is Your House And If You Fill It With Rubbish From The Cinemas It Will Rot In Your Head. You Might Be Poor, Your Shoes Might Be Broken, But Your Mind Is A Palace.

People Everywhere Brag And Whimper About The Woes Of Their Early Years, But Nothing Can Compare With The Irish Version: The Poverty; The Shiftless Loquacious Father; The Pious Defeated Mother Moaning By The Fire; Pompous Priests; Bullying School Masters; The English And The Terrible Things They Did To Us For Eight Hundred Long Years. Above All -- We Were Wet.

Love Her As In Childhood Through Feeble, Old And Grey. For You’ll Never Miss A Mother’s Love Till She’s Buried Beneath The Clay.

I Don't Absolve My Father Completely Of His Responsibility For What He Did To Us I Feel Compassion, Maybe. He Had His Demons. But I Still Can't Understand How A Man Can Walk Away From Children. And Leave Them To Starve, As We Nearly Did, If It Wasn't For My Mother Going Out And Begging.