Why I Write... by Frank McCourt

I write because I want to teach. Through writing I want to teach my readers the valuable life lessons I learned through experience. I write because no matter how seemingly dreadful some of my experiences were, I do not wish I had lived a different life. I lived in incredible poverty with a depressed mother and a father whom had been cursed by the drink at an early age. My father’s wages were critical to our survival. We needed that money for food and coal. Week after week my father spent it all in pubs which forced Mam to ask gracious shop keepers for food. My young brother Malachy and I would have to scrounge for remnants of coal on the sides of the road. Death was so common, it only faintly affected me. With all of this considered I am happy with the life I lived; it has molded me into the man I am today.

I did not just so briefly summarize my life to invoke sympathy. I do not write to escalate my ego. I will profess that I lived a difficult life; I do not believe anyone could disagree. However, never did I complain. I write to show that anyone can make light of any situation they find themselves in. I write to ask people to always see the bright side in any predicament. There is no use in being pessimistic. One must make the best of their current situation in order to get through it. Had I complained about the pig’s head our family ate for Christmas dinner or moaned about the endless flooding of the downstairs of our home (more commonly known as Ireland), I do not believe I would have had the motive to improve my life. As a child, each day I woke up and reminded myself that I could someday work to help support my family. I grew anxious for that day; I wanted to contribute to the family. I wanted to work to save my mother for I knew she was slowly wearing herself down with worry and fear. I could almost see her soul draining from her eyes. I wanted her to know I appreciated her efforts. She always put her children first, even when she herself was starving. I write to advise my readers to appreciate what they have. Although wearing clumsy rubber-soled shoes to school seemed embarrassing, I was thankful that I actually had shoes. There were children in my class who would wear those same gawky shoes and think them luxurious. I write to tell my readers to appreciate their family. In the blink of an eye, death can creep up and pilfer the life of your siblings, or even your parents. Do not waste your time worrying about insignificant things in life. Instead focus on appreciating what you have because no matter what there will always be someone who is worse off.

I write to inform you that the poverty I lived through was REAL. An egg on a Sunday was rare; it was a luxury. Sometimes our only food for a day really was just one piece of bread. I write to tell you that the light grumbling in your stomach you feel before lunch could be much worse. I want my readers to realize that this type of poverty was almost inevitable in Ireland during the depression. But however horrific your past is, you must not dwell on it. Always look ahead, look to grow from mistakes or experiences. I write to tell you that the life you are living is not set in stone. You have the power to change every aspect of your life. Be appreciative, but do not be satisfied with the mediocre. One should look to try to better their life and the life of their families. I write to assure you that out of dark and depressing situations can come the will to rise above social and emotional barriers.