nacho (nachomaracas)

Even in this new country, memories don't really fade. My father was an illiterate Scot born on the boat into New York. He never saw his homeland, but to hear him talk about it, you'd imagine he only ever ate haggis and wore a kilt. And he hated the English for what they had done to his great-grandparents that he'd never met. People don't forget. Nothing gets forgiven.