My father sang toward America. I moved toward it.

I don’t know what caused me to fall in love with America: Old Glory, the bunting, the cowboy hats or the country music sung by Mel Tarner. But I do know where and when it was: early 90s, aged eight or nine, at a working men’s club in East Belfast. Cigarette smoke filled the air, and women ate prawn cocktails served in wine glasses. Every day, people dressed like extras in a spaghetti western. Men with six-shooters on their hips, ... Read more...