Irish-American New Yorkers—especially those of the Catholic persuasion—have a knack for fatalist worst-case scenarios. Maybe it’s the indigenous oppression and starvation imprinted long ago on our DNA. Maybe it’s the second-class steerage tickets to America that marked us not just for life, but for generations. Maybe it’s from perpetually feeling two lengths behind, no matter how fast we sprint. It’s most assuredly from ill-fitting plaid Catholic school uniforms and the dysfunctional religious practice of making pride—and the inherent, innocent swell of joy—sinful. For some reason, I couldn’t sleep tonight. I woke at 2 am, … Continue reading The Odd and Tender Clarity of 4 AM Kathleen McKitty Harris →