Birthdays
My last memories of Uncle Jacob are mostly of me trying to glare at him but failing miserably because of my allergies and his attempts to die as a human chimney. It was his sixtieth birthday, and we celebrated at a Chinese restaurant bright with red walls and false cheer. The chatter was deafening. Irish American families are rarely quiet - and mine was no exception - but the constant jabbering was blaring and just teetering on the edge of hysteria.