father’s day

This one goes out to…

Saturday would have been my father’s 62nd birthday. I met my mother for lunch and pretended not to remember. My upset would only cause her upset. My pain would be her pain. You could fill Urlar Lake with our tears. (My mother doesn’t read this blog by the way.) Here’s something nice I once wrote about him. Here’s something else. And here’s something else.

Published: Irish Times, June 14th 2008

ON FATHER’S DAY

Every time the seasons change I think about my father. In early spring I see him jotting down the names and dates-of-birth of his latest crop of Under-10s, gleefully identifying future corner-backs and budding centre-fielders. When the sun comes out in May, I envision us striking out for the beach at Enniscrone. (You always know when it’s summer there, he’d say, because the old ladies wear their overcoats unbuttoned.) In August, he’s picking blackberries to make jam. And when the frosts return in late November, he’s making breadcrumbs for the birds that come to forage in our garden. Read the rest of this entry »