The sadness of poverty in Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt“It is not the rich man you should properly call happy, but he who knows how to use his blessings of the gods, to endure harsh poverty, and who fears a dishonor worse than death, and is not afraid of dying for dear friends or for the country. he knows it. It's a memoir about a young boy born in New York City. Frank, born ten months before his brother Malachy, grew up in a small apartment with his parents, Angela and Malachy McCourt. A dark-haired, light-skinned boy, little Frankie was forced to wear the same clothes day after day and be happy that he even had something. The family's breakfast consisted of tea and sometimes bread. Dinner was usually a piece of fried bread dipped in more tea and dinner was bread, tea, jam and sometimes mashed potatoes with butter and salt. Born to an alcoholic father at an early age, Frank was accustomed to the long waits on Friday night, payday. The day all the other fathers went home and gave money to their families and then took some for themselves to go out drinking. Malachy McCourt was different, he took all his money, spent it on drink and came home singing songs from his days in Ireland. He would stumble in the door, make the two boys stand up and make them promise to die for Ireland. He taught them his favorite song and they all sang until Malachy fainted." He walked down the narrow street Smiling, proud and young Of the hemp rope around his neck The golden ringlets hung, There's never a tear in the blue eyes Both happy and bright they are them, as Roddy McCorley says ...... middle of the paper ...... they had advised his mother to give him eggs and beef, but all she was able to give him was a little beef broth for a couple of days. It takes a very skilled writer to tell her life to the world, especially the painful one. Angela's ashes portray a life of hunger and lack of money that she lives each day one at a time and when they have enough of an extra shilling or two, spending it on movies or on candy In those days, there was no point in saving unless you knew that you or someone close to you definitely needed it when a simple story about a boy. growing up in Ireland can make a person cry, that's the best way to touch a reader's heart. A good writer knows exactly how to do it, and an even better writer is brave enough to admit that this story is sad. . . it is them.Work citedMcCourt, Frank. Angela's Ashes: A Memoir. Scribner 1996.