Hommage A Mon Pere
Dad and I never got along. We were always at odds and he could never have a normal conversation with me the way he could with all the others. This is all common knowledge. I don’t really know why but that is the way it was for a long time. We would try to make small talk but it never seemed natural and it was always uncomfortable for him and for me. We both tried but we could never reach that level of common communication that seemed to be natural with everyone else. I still don’t know why.
I was always envious of the easy banter he had with all the others.
Yet I have so many memories of him that were carefree and happy. He had a beautiful sweet baritone voice and when he was in good mood he would sing as he was getting ready for work, usually on a Saturday Night. He would ease into a Crosby or Sinatra ballad and we would follow him around saying ‘Da, da why don’t you become a singer’? He just loved it. He would look at us with that look that only Brendan can recreate and made us wonder if he was seriously considering such a change in career. We knew he was good. He would enthrall us while looking into the lopsided mirror that was above the fireplace. He knew we were in the palm of his hand and he played with us like a true troubadour. He was teasing us one minute, fishing for compliments the next.
In these moments of abandon we adored him. He was ‘Joe’ our Dad, although we would never call him ‘Joe ‘to his face.
One night, I must have been all of ten years old, while watching him shave I convinced him to leave a little pencil Clarke Gable type moustache. He did and I was thrilled, we thought he looked like a film star. He looked fantastic. I expected Mam would appear as Scarlett O’Hara. He was told to leave it on but, alas, he couldn’t. It was inconceivable to me that he would shave it off, but to my disappointment he did.
It was one thing to impress his children and make them laugh: it was quite another to go into the Irish Press looking like Clarke Gable.
In those years he was virile, he was robust and he counted. His authority was undeniable. His demeanor went from stern to stern and understanding with a hint of humour. He was everything to all our little minds. He was omnipotent! He was our Dad!
Time went by and I left and life went on. Contrary to the old saying time was not a healer of all wounds. If we ever met again conversations were stilted and not at all natural. I ignored it and carried on. It didn’t matter.
But it did matter. I came home in 1998 and had a great time with Mam and Dad and all the children. After a long absence I was able to be with them and all the siblings for an evening. That was all I wanted. There was misunderstanding about having ‘the kids’ there but I just wanted to be with Mam, Dad and my brothers and sisters.
A few days later and after the end of one evening of Guinness and singsong it was time to leave and Dad was sitting in his chair at the fireplace. He was no longer the same presence that he had been but a frail old man, a shadow of his former self, enjoying himself vicariously through his family.
As I was about to leave I stood up and approached him. Instinctively I kissed him on the forehead and told him I loved him and said” See you tomorrow Da”. In his characteristic way he looked up at me and said ‘Ah, don’t be daft’ but he gave my hand a very tight and meaningful squeeze anyway. With that little gesture all the years of misunderstanding and missed opportunities seemed to disappear and blow away with the wind.
He died a few months later.
Postscript:
It must be pointed out that this is nothing more than a simple commentary on our family history. It is not a plea for understanding or a sad statement. What it really is is an homage to Dad who was himself a character. Nothing in this is new. All families go through these kinds of things and ours is no exception. So this little narrative should be read with as much humor as pathos, nothing more. We all love Mam and Dad and we are thankful that there are as many stories and events to guide us through our own lives.
13 comments:
Happy Fathers Day to Joe and George. And to John too.
To all the dads everywhere, we do love you all.
Terry, what a lovely post. Thank you.
I know i say this every year, but you can never be old enough to not miss your Da.
I took this photo...and that day holds a lot of memories for me...
happy Fathers day to all the lads, young and old..
That is a great photo, very Da.
I didn't know you took this photo Anne and I have always wondered who did. Now I know. It is my all-time favorite photo of him. It must have been taken not long before or not long after I left because this is the way I remember him from that time. He was just beginning to mellow but still had a little bit of fire in him. There was a big change in him a few years later. He had mellowed out completely and was no longer the same man. I think he was relieved. He seemed to get more out of life and his relationships with everyone around him had improved to the point of familiarity to the extreme. He didn't seem to want to be ' in charge ' anymore. That explains the difference in his interactions with the younger kids (meaning everyone younger than me!) and the less young.
I still have this pipe. He gave me all his pipes and I still keep them shining, polished and well taken care of.
He used to carry this one in his top pocket when he wasn't smoking it and, as young children, when we would sit in his lap there would be the unique smell of Yachtsman tobacco and Da in the nostrils. Whenever I smell any of the tobaccos he used, he used three, Erinmore, Condor and Yachtsman and he mixed them in his special way. He would buy them in that little tobacco shop around Parnell Street. I don’t know if it still exists. He showed me how to mix them and when I have them (hint) I mix them the way he did. The aroma always brings his presence back.
Very interesting Post Jim, very telling. It is always interesting to me to hear of the many different takes on Dad and his relationships with his children. I never really understood how difficult it must have been for him to balance the dynamics and personalities of these many relationships until it was too late. Mam and Dad raised a dozen headstrong and willed people. I have one, I cannot imagine 12.
"When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years." Mark Twain
love that quote.
I have read that quote before too. I love "age." If only I could go back and be the person I am now, then.
why is youth wasted on the young......g.b shaw
Take care of your parents. That was a difficult piece to write but it was a different time.
I think you've hit the nail on the head here Jim, they were indeed difficult times, both financially and emotionally. There was a lot of worry, and that spilled over into our family life. We were only kids and did'nt understand what Mam and Dad were going through. Also people did'nt express their feelings to each other, or to kids, It was a case of being seen and not heard..I understand what you mean, I probably had the same relationship with Mam., but over the years, obviously with maturity and the changing of attitudes, I developed a great relationship with her, and I appreciate that very much. Its great the way children and their parents can talk and be very open with each other now....as you say different times and different circumstances...xxxx
Too true Anne, too true.
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