My grandma, and all the other ladies in Ireland that I visited when I was young, had two pictures on the dresser.  One of the Pope and one of President John F. Kennedy.  JFK was the epitome of dreams come true for the Irish.  His grandpa scraped together the four pounds he needed to sail across the Atlantic at a time when many of the windows of businesses in the new country held signs that said, “Irish Need Not Apply.”   Continue reading