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FBI Girl: How I Learned to Crack My Father's Code

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FBI father, Catholic school nuns, big family, sixties-seventies, Downs-syndrome child...I expected yet another story of growing up stifled in the suburbs, with some illicit sex and scandal.

In fact, Conlon-McIver describes a remarkably functional family, bound together by an amazing generosity of spirit. Fascinated by her father's career and her Nancy Drew books, she remembers keeping a log that includes every neighbor's license plate. She wants her father to bring home stories of exciting crimes he solved.

Reviewers have focused Maura's father, Joe, who refused to talk about his work and in fact didn't talk much at all. However, linguist Deborah Tannen has written about the differences in male and female communication styles and John Gray reminds us that men are from Mars. Men just don't want to talk about "my day at work." Like Joe Conlon, they communicate through action.

Reading between the lines, Joe was trained as a lawyer. Although he carried a gun and badge, he probably worked in offices, pushing paper rather than chasing bad guys. He might have been assigned to white collar crime. Here's a clue: he came home regularly for supper nearly every day. So there probably weren't a whole lot of exciting stories to tell.

And we should note that he didn't brush off Maura's questions with ridicule: he just changed the subject. Once he even shared a "trick" of looking out the rear view mirror, probably acquired from another agent who was more active in actual criminal pursuit.

Joe took his kids out to play baseball on Saturday afternoons (another clue: bad guys don't work nine to five weekdays). He even built a ball field. He did chores around the house, apparently without complaint, everything from changing diapers to folding laundry and mowing lawns.

Most significantly, he didn't withdraw when his last child, Joey, was born with Down's syndrome. Joe not only remained a caring father, but also raised significant funds for a group home for other developmentally disabled children.

Maura's mother, a former beauty queen, never seems too tired or impatient to spend time with her five children. She's creative and playful, sensitive to Maura's need to attend public school rather than continue to an all-girls Catholic high school.

However, the mother's ideas seem more progressive than her cooking. The family dinner table seems more fifties than sixties. I have to admit I admired the way they managed to stay slim and healthy while eating endless servings of processed, high-carbohydrate food.

And the children seem remarkably unselfish, as they pitch in to care for Joey resisting stares and embarrassment. This family learned the joy of living with a developmentally disabled child in a time, place and social environment where those attitudes were hardly commonplace.

Even the nuns are remarkably benevolent; one fussy teacher who complains about Maura's E's in handwriting class, but she melts as she learns more about Maura.

Because the book focuses so intently on family, it's hard to get a sense of the role of friends in Maura's early life. She mentions being neglected by the popular girls but we don't get episodes of real meanness or of the close friendships young girls typically develop.

Now comes the challenge: How does Maura Conlon-McIver keep the pages turning while describing a happy childhood? She's not sticky or sentimental. She tells the story with crisp sentences, studded with original metaphors. Most importantly, Conlon-McIvor paces the story as if she were writing a novel, no easy task when writing a memoir.

Toward the end, she reports a tragedy that scars what should have been a happy climax to her grade school years. And she ends on a bittersweet note, growing aware of her talents but also her family's unspoken conflicts.

I once heard a psychologist speak about families on the basis of real research rather than myths. He claimed that families held together based on what they didn't say, rather than on openness. Perhaps it is the unrealistic expectation of free-flowing communication that harms families, rather than the actual silence. And maybe the Conlon household wasn't perfect, but I bet a lot of people would have gladly traded places with any member of that family.

A wonderfully poignant, yet very amusing and entertaining acount of Ms. Conlon-McIver's life growing up in middle America. She has a gift of rhetoric. The vivid descriptions--I can still see and smell the trunk of her father's FBI car, and was transported back to my own childhood memories attending my first school dance. I laughed and cried with the joys and anguish of this girl and her family. I truly enjoyed this book and look forward to reading more works by this talented author.

"FBI Girl" is not about the FBI. Nor is it, really, about Maura Conlon-McIvor's father in his role as an FBI agent. It is, instead, a memoir of the childhold of an Irish-American girl attempting to understand her non-communicative, somewhat dysfunctional father, and loving and caring for her Down's Syndrome brother. This brother, Joey, and Maura's exceptionally warm mother, are the glue that holds this family together.

It is a testament to Maura's parents that when their severely-retarded son Joey was born, they did not put him into an institution, which would have been common in the mid-1960s. Maura herself is fiercely protective of Joey, and believes that anyone without a Down's syndrome child in the family is missing something. This is an attitude shared by her father, who believes that the developmentally disabled are really the smart ones and the so-called "normal" people are ignorant. When you read about some of the reactions of the Conlon's neighbors (which range from shock, to avoidance, to guilty stares, to embarrassment and, occasionally, caring and compassion), you don't doubt that this is true.

Maura has a bigger problem, however, communicating with her father who, in her eyes, speaks in some sort of code. Joe Conlon obviously loves his five children, and his love is demonstrated by doing things, rather than talking (whenever Conlon does not want to answer a question, he changes the subject entirely.) Maura believes, incorrectly, that Joe Conlon's job as an FBI special agent precludes him from talking about anything substantive. In fact, as Maura discovers, Conlon's behavior was nothing learned at Quantico or ordered by J. Edgar Hoover.

The story warmly evokes 1960s Los Angeles. Maura Conlon lived with with her parents, sister and three brothers in an unidentified suburb of Los Angeles (20 minutes from Disneyland and 40 minutes from Hollywood.) The name of the suburb doesn't matter -- whether it's Downey or Fullerton or Los Alamitos or West Covina or Azusa, or any one of the other suburbs that run into one another in this part of the world, the story would be the same. It is hilarious, however, to read about young Maura playing Nancy Drew, writing down license plate numbers and desperately looking for high intrigue in this bland world of tract homes.

What is also relevant is Maura's religious Catholic upbringing, which provides Maura with a strong faith, a strict way to live, and more than a few interesting stories. A less salutory aspect is that Maura grows up strictly differentiating between "Catholics" and "publics," believing, among other things, that public school kids put drugs in the mustard and ketchup bottles. This belief is proven false when Maura herself goes to public school, with the backing of her former teacher, a nun.

Above all, this is the story of a painfully shy, highly imaginative girl who finally finds her own voice. Maura Conlon-McIvor has a compelling story to tell, which is well worth reading. As a contemporary of the author, I enjoyed the 1960s references, which took me back to my youth. Yet Maura Conlon-McIvor's story is unique. I think it gives a greater understanding of living with and loving the disabled than anything I've read thus far. Although it is somewhat less satisfying in addressing the author's father, it is definitely a worthwhile read.

"His high cheekbones freeze, and for the first time, I see it -- the wild animal in his eyes boring through, something wrecked, in pain all over. The animal is like a ghost caught in a well for centuries, its cry a soundless wail clenched so deep that it shakes you to the bone." (p. 238)

Just one example of the FBI girl's incredible gift of language. I read this book in a gulp, barely coming up for air from beginning to end. I lived with Maura and her family through seven years of their lives in the span of a few hours and I am grateful to have done so. Read this book. They are a family worth knowing.

FBI Girl is a love story-a young girl's love for her family, portrayed primarily by her interactions with her father, mother, and younger brother Joey, who has Down's syndrome. Maura is an Irish Catholic pre-teen, living in Los Angeles because of her father's job with the FBI. Her father is reserved and uncommunicative, but shows his love for his family through his actions. The descriptions of him checking and double-checking that all the windows and doors are closed and locked are enough to make even the reader feel more secure!

Convinced that her father actually speaks in code, Maura does her best to emulate him, admiring J. Edgar Hoover, reading crime books in the library, and observing him closely. The birth of Maura's youngest brother Joey, who has Down's syndrome, changes the family dynamic as her both of her parents focus on doing all they can on helping Joey have a full life. Her parent's family also plays a role in the story, with a grandmother who is not quite comfortable with Joey, while a beloved uncle that is a priest shows Joey unquestioning love and acceptance.

Maura's story is set in the 1960's, with a backdrop of Catholic grammar school, religion, assertiveness training for her mother, and even a marriage encounter weekend. The setting gives context to the story line and perfectly stages the family and their home for the reader. The book is as joyful as only a story with threads of sorrow can be, and I would recommend it highly.

Coming of age in the family of an FBI agent. The relationship between the genders, daughter and father is difficult. Perhaps especially so if the father is an FBI agent trained to never talk about his work at home. This seems to mean don't talk about anything at home. The strong silent male. Combine this with the shy sensitive daughter and growing up is difficult.

I suppose that it's difficult for all of us. Most of us grow out of of the family, move away and live our own lives. But most of us don't have the gift of analyzing ourselves so clearly as we grow that we can put the life on paper. This book is not like a mystery that you can't put down. But it's so well written that you develop an empathy that makes you want to help the girl along.

I found this memoir to be very moving. The last 1/2 to 1/4 of the book I read without stopping. I got a hint that maybe, another book may come out. I understood this author with all her family dynamics that she writes so well about. I especially understood her feelings when she spoke about her father. I will look for second memoir from this author--so far I haven't seen any; but hopefully she will still write one.

I loved this book-- Ms. Conlon-McIvor has the ability to usher you into her world as a young, wide-eyed and watchful girl with a big imagination who grows into a young woman before the book is finished. This is a tender homage to her silent father and extended family, her Catholic upbringing, and her suburban Southern California neighborhood that may have appeared bland to others, but was a hot bed of intrugue to young Maura.

FBI Girl was the highlight of my summer reading this year. It was fun to relate to the experiences of a young girl as she navigates grammar and middle school as a painfully shy student, eventually `finding her voice' with the help of a few caring adults. The intricate relationships with dad, mom and brother Joe, though sometimes heart-wrenching, illustrate the strength of family love even when it's not displayed in a typical fashion. The writer pulls you in early and treats you to a refreshing, descriptive ride through an Irish-Catholic family's life against the backdrop of Los Angeles in the late 1960's. After finishing this book, I realized it would also be a great read for my 12-year-old daughter and once she started, she couldn't put it down.

I highly recommend it!

FBI Girl: How I Learned to Crack My Father's Code is an upbeat, funny and engaging read; it took me all of two days to finish it, which is no small feat for a mother of two young children, one with special needs.

I immediately felt a bond with the author, Maura Conlon-McIvor, because her story hit home for me in so many ways. I related to her hysterical accounts of attending Catholic elementary school in the '60s and '70s, loved the eloquence with which she described the awkwardness of growing up, and admired her for not giving up on her father. Her relationship with her brother Joey opened my eyes to what it meant to have a sibling with special needs in an era before the Americans with Disabilities Act. Her story is a testament to unconditional love and her parents' determination to turn their initial heartbreak into hope and joy, despite the ignorance and insensitivity of others.

I suspect that FBI Girl will be a hot seller and will make it to the big screen in the near future. I recommend putting it on your Most Wanted list of books to read.