I (almost 50) go with my father (almost 80) to the farmer’s wife (just 100) on whose farm my father stayed during the Hunger Winter. My father and I are greeted warmly when we are received in the retirement home. The first thing she asks me, in a crackling voice, is, “How’s school going, kid?” “Okay, ma’am,” I say.
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A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of May 4, 2022
