Shape the manuscript

I grew up in a small house in Scranton in 1948. My mother kept the kitchen warm and there were always cousins coming through the door.

We prayed the rosary every evening. My grandmother taught me, beads worn smooth, and that faith carried our family through the leanest years.

Christmas at the family table was the whole world. My sister Margaret made the pies and we sang until my father fell asleep in his chair.

My father served in the Army during the war. He never talked about it much, but on Sundays General Bradley's name would come up and he would go quiet.

In June 1968 my brother Daniel shipped out. We stood on the platform and my mother pressed a Saint Christopher medal into his hand.

I always wanted to give back. For thirty years I volunteered at the parish, and serving my neighbors taught me more about my country than any book.