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Episode Info: We spend our years like a tale that is told… Psalm 90 verse 9 O.K! This is a first attempt at telling my tale. It is also the foundational work for leaving my story behind in book form, for my kids and grandkids to read. Nothing like this was done for me with my family and I sure would have liked the tale told to me. My Mom and Dad were interesting people. My Dad was  a highly intelligent, well dressed, soldier, chauffeur, socially skilled, well read, insightful in the workings of human beings and a fierce fighter of men. He was a man’s man. Handsome. He died of alcohol poisoning effects on his body. So did all his five brothers. My Mother was savvy, a seamstress, silver service waitress, loom operator in a linen mill, socially skilled and a fierce defender of the forgotten. She was a woman’s woman. Beautiful. She died from complications of bone diseases. I have three siblings: Kathleen, then me, Samuel then Donna. It is commonly known among all my family and relatives that my Mother favored me. I was the blond haired, blue eyed boy and she would sing to me. She loved all her kids, but for some reason she knew she needed to love me a little bit more in different ways than the others. As I tell my tale you may see why I say this, for in retrospect I was walking the tight rope way too often and needed care to keep me pulled in. We lived as a family. Troubles, trials and all the intricate mechanics of love, rivalry, competition and blood between us all. These two people gave me themselves in many ways. I am a product of their lives. I love them both to this day.   1st 10 – life for starters Belfast, Africa, Germany and Belfast A city to be born in and one always to come home to, no place like it anywhere on this earth. It always will be home… Growing up in exotic places and visiting sites that chill the bones and grip the heart. Africa – Libya and Germany – Hanover sunshine, beaches, camels, desert sands, glass bottles of Pepsi at the square, noisy people busy places and smells that are still with me to this day. Germany snow, autobahns, swimming naked, flying kites, multinational schools, knocked out, meeting polio, Belsen concentration camp that is still with me to this day. Belfast the place I call home. Streets of terraced housing that made the little house movement of today a late comer to my party. Community, poverty, camaraderie, gas lights, cobbled streets and the love of childhood friends. Traipsing around a city that was my playground, before the bloodletting. Time to move on, as always… Homes: 13 Gaffigan St. Belfast, The compound Tripoli, Some Straussa in Hanover and 86 Donegal Rd Belfast. Dogs, friends of mine and fields I have layed me down to rest in. I was not allowed a dog at home. But my uncle and I picked out a white German shepherd which my Grandfather raised. He was called King, I named him. I loved that dog. So did the people in the community of Sandy Row, my part of the city. Friends of mine were both boys a...
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