My sort-of grandpa loves the poet Robert Service, and every summer at our family reunion he offers an grandchild $50 if they can recite the poem “The Cremation of Sam McGee” by heart in front of our huge family (Irish Catholics have lots of babies. They also name them after themselves so we’re all Jon and Mary and Paul and Theresa). You get your name on a plaque afterwards. Now we all know this damn poem and we recite it together like some weird cult. There are strange things done in the midnight sun…
