"My uh…my dad was not without love. But a cliched Irish motherfucker when he wanted to be. Drinker, brawler, all that stuff. Never shed a tear, it’s a weakness everywhere. But he had this thing for poems, poetry. Reading them, quoting them, probably thought it rounded him off, you know? His way of apologizing I guess. And there was one that hung over the desk in his den. It was only when I was a lot older I realized he’d written it. It was untitled, four lines. I read it at his funeral: ‘Once more into the fray. Into the last good fight I’ll ever know. Live and die on this day. Live and die on this day.’"