Parallel Lines

I love Frank McCourt. I love the autobiography he wrote, Angela's Ashes. I listen to it as well as his follow-up books 'Tis and Teacherman in my car everyday. I listen to them over and over and over. Frank narrates the stories himself in his lovely Irish brogue. When Les called me a couple of years ago to tell me that he had passed away, I was sooo sad. I stopped listening to the CDs. I just couldn't bear to hear his voice knowing that he was no longer around. I felt as if I had lost someone very dear to me whose life I had been a part of since he was a wee lad growing up in the slums of Limerick, then surviving as a college student in his beloved America and finally as teacher in the burrows of New York City. It would be months before I could bring myself to play the discs again. But I eventually did, and I still do . . . everyday . . .

Mr. O'Neill, Frank's master in his fourth class at school admired Greek mathematician Euclid who lived in 300 B.C and is often referred to as the Father of Geometry. Frank tells this story about Mr. O'Neill who they called Dotty because he was small like a dot:

"He draws two lines side by side and tells us these are parallel lines and the magical and mysterious thing is that they never meet, not if they were to be extended to infinity, not if they were extended to God's shoulders and that, boys, is a long way."