Sunday, 1 April 2012
Coming to America with The Girl
The Girl was four the last time we visited the USA, and remembers little, and I look forward to seeing my native country through her eyes. The last time we visited Minnesota, one summer evening, we heard a faint rumbling in the distance, and The Girl asked excitedly, “Papa, is that thunder?” Thunder is rare in Ireland, and she knew it mainly from stories.
She got another shock when the rains began – not Ireland’s chilly drizzle, but a Minnesota summer squall, a brief and intense deluge of warm water.
I had a terrible time getting tickets for the USA after the two thousand euros I had saved up was lost in a botched bank transfer, missing in cyberspace for two weeks. After The Girl overheard me frantically calling banks on either side of the Atlantic, she brought me a small cloth bag she had been hiding, saying, “Papa, will this help us get there?”
Inside the bag was all the money she had in the world – about a hundred pennies.
Thank you, I said, but you keep this. It will work out somehow. And it did.