I knew what she meant but pretended not to. I didn’t mind staying at home. It was fun at 44, watching the weird interactions of the grown-ups and soaking up from them as much “forbidden” knowledge as I could. “Why does everyone call him Jim Joyce?” Pops asked. “So as not to confuse him with Joe Blow,” Medina said. “Do you have to be so mean?” Pops snapped. He never, when directly addressing her, used her name, and only rarely used it otherwise. “Do you have to be so nice, Pops? I’m related to Jim Joyce by an accident of birth. What’s your excuse?” “Everyone called him Jim Joyce,” my mother said. “ ‘Jim’ was insufficient for some reason.” Medina sniffed. “I used to ask him, ‘Jim, what would you like to be if you grow up?’ ” “What was Jim Joyce, really?” I said. “What was his job?” My mother told me he was a brain surgeon. An admiral in the navy. A big tycoon. “Tell me the truth.” “I’ve told you before. He was a van driver. He delivered trays of bread to corner stores.”
What do You think about The Son Of A Certain Woman?
