Liam Alex Heffron

I think it was a twenty-pound note. Dad had business to do elsewhere in Ballina and gave my sister and me the money to get something to eat while he was away. It felt like a fortune. As a young teenager, I never had such freedom to eat in a restaurant. I spent it all in Cafollas. Probably on Chicken Kiev and mashed potato. Such were the heights of my elite culinary tastes and not much has changed since. My sister had suggested we get something small and keep the change for Dad.

The question I’ve been asked more than any other since announcing this would be my final column from Los Angeles was a surprisingly-simple variation of: “So, Liam… did the acting work out?” Fair question. Even if a bit loaded as only Irish questions can be. After all, that was a motivating reason my wife and I crossed the Atlantic. Like countless others before me, we came to Tinseltown chasing Hollywood. I imagined the path to be reasonably straightforward.

I am one-quarter American. At least, that’s what I occasionally tell people, usually when a pub conversation subsides and I really do not want to discuss the current state of Mayo football again. The reaction is usually confusion followed by “would ya ever get outa that!” or worse… more Mayo football. After all, I am from North Mayo. I sound Irish. I look Irish. I can trace my Ballycastle genealogy back generations. Yet my grandfather was born in San Francisco.