I was about 10 and I was playing in the garden with my dad. And my mum rang and sounded angry, she wanted to know if I had scratched my cousins CD. I hadn’t. Mum believed me. My aunts remained sceptic as always, judging each other and regarding the little ones, searching for their little flaws which may reflect on the parents. At my aunts house, my two cousins and I were coldy questioned. I panicked and changed my story, I hadn’t done the crime but I was scared that I would be accused. I got the blame. I sat in the living room on my own, everyone else in the kitchen. I pondered and inspected the frills on the cushion in my lap. My grandma came in and sat down, I was ashamed in a way even though I didn’t understand the meaning of shame. But all the same, I didn’t look her in the eye. Until she asked in a very frank way ‘Did you do it, Roisin?’, I met her calm gaze and told her I didn’t and she said that she believed me. And that was her way. She listened and she watched and she was wise to idle chit chat. She was calm. How a woman who had experienced so much pain in her life could find calm, I don’t know. I don’t know how she, after living through so much pain, could maintain her strength, composure, humour, wit and love and understanding for all. I don’t know how she would see the good in everyone, even those who may have hurt her. I don’t know. I don’t know how she managed any of it. But I aspire to be just the same.