Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Growing Up Kennedy

My dad rarely smiled.

I know very little about him. He knew less about me.

He liked his beer. He liked his beer very much. I never liked what beer did to him.

He was always angry. I never knew about what. I don't think he really knew. Something about being Irish Catholic.

The angrier he got, the less time he spent with me. I have few memories with my dad. He took me to a Red Sox game.

To save a buck, my dad would cut my hair. A neighbor once commented on my hairstyle in my dad's presence, "You look like a Kennedy with that haircut." Before I could react, I looked at my dad for his reaction. He was smiling.

So when I hear, "The Kennedys," I don't think:
Dealey Plaza.
Sirhan Sirhan.
Chappaquiddick.

I see my dad smiling.

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