Excerpt from And Give You Peace

"We are the Dolans"

When his anxiety was highest, we couldn't have chicken in the house; and when we did, he was the only one who could touch it before it was cooked. He buried the plastic wrapping in newspaper, which he then put into its own garbage bag and rolled into a tight twist. He brought the whole package outside to stash in his car trunk, so he could dispose of it far from the house.

And once, when he'd bought a week's worth of groceries, but the cashier sneezed while packing them, my father wheeled the bags out of the store and directly to the dumpster, where he tossed the entire purchase, canned sauces and all. If we had pancakes for breakfast, only he could crack the eggs into the batter, and the eggshells went the same way as the blood juice of the meat. (Years later, I would miss my father whenever I saw Phil Hartman playing the Anal-Retentive Chef on Saturday Night Live, while around me everybody laughed."

Sometimes our mother just watched, without saying anything, when our father went through these elaborate sanitary routines. But other times she grew impatient and couldn't help showing it. She'd watch our father souring the spot where an egg had leaked, and she'd say, "For God's sake, Tom, it's an egg, not a body fluid."

My father seemed to understand that his behavior was difficult to put up with, but he couldn't help it. He would ask her not to be so sarcastic, and she would say she couldn't help that. If the mood wasn't already ruined beyond repair, Meggy could start up the mighty mighty Dolan cheer and make everyone smile. It had to be the right moment, but when it worked it was one of those magic formulas every family has, a silly set of words reminding us of what's really important, that we belong to each other and here's how we know.

Copyright 2001 by Jessica Treadway. All rights reserved.