… who played catch with me in the backyard, for years, during my childhood … as dinner was being prepared. We threw the ball back and forth in the cool summer night, with the fireflies blinking … until it got too dark to see the ball.<\/p>\n
… who, if you ask him a random question about pretty much anything, will stand up, walk over to a random bookcase, pull out a book (without having to look for it for longer than 10.2 seconds), and read to you a relevant quote that will answer your question<\/p>\n
… who made multiplication-table flashcards for me when I was in 4th or 5th grade and really struggling with math. He sat down and just drilled them with me, over and over and over … I still use some of his little mental tricks when I multiply stuff<\/p>\n
… who would tell us stories, when we were kids, about his Boy Scout trips. With the flash flood. And there was a story involving swallowing a goldfish too. We would request to hear these stories over and over …<\/p>\n
… who loves to body-surf. When we all were little, we used to run after his body, as he careened by us in the middle of some wave, and try to catch a ride on his back.<\/p>\n
… who was my tutor\/guide when I first read Ulysses<\/i> a couple summers ago. He was RIGHT there. I would call him with questions. I would read him one sentence, with an unfamiliar name in it, and he would reply without a thought: “That’s from the Eolus episode. So-and-so was the editor of the Irish Times<\/i> at the time.” Astonishing. Also, I was reading one section, and just WAS NOT GETTING IT. What the HELL is going on? My father walked by, and I said, “Dad – I am baffled. I just started up a new section, but I have NO IDEA what is going on.” I gave him the book, my dad scanned the page – he didn’t even READ the page – just glanced at it, and said, “This is from the Cyclops episode.” He hadn’t looked long enough to take in the text itself, so I said, “Uh … how do you know?” He held out the book to me: “It’s in first person. Look at how many times the word ‘I’ appears on the page.” All he did was look at the text on the page, and he saw all the: “says I” “I said” “so I said” “says I” “says I” … and it’s true. If you just glance at a page of that section, in a cursory way, all you can see is I I I I I I I I I. A ton of “eyes”. But I never could have seen that without my father. He helped me crack the code of that book. He helped me see in a new way. You couldn’t have a better Joycean guide than my dad.<\/p>\n
… who is a wonderful grandfather. He looks at Cashel, and beams.<\/p>\n
… who loves all of my friends. Mainly because they love me and treat me well. He is fiercely protective of his kids. You’re good to his kid? He will let you in. You’re bad to his kid? You are TOAST. He is all about family. He would prefer to sit around surrounded by his kids than do pretty much anything else.<\/p>\n
… who pulled his 4 kids out of school when we were kids, and took us over to Ireland. I grumbled about all “the stupid monasteries” at the time, but it was a growing experience, a time that changed me forever. We drove, and went to graveyards, and abbeys, and monasteries … He made us pay attention.<\/p>\n
… who always made us pay attention to our heritage. We grew up having an allowance ritual. We had to memorize certain things in order to get … oh … 50 feckin’ cents, or whatever it is. We had to memorize books by certain Irish authors (we each were assigned a different author – I had Yeats). We also had to memorize the US Presidents. Kind of says it all. It’s wonderful to have BOTH. Appreciation of where you came from, and appreciation for where you are now.<\/p>\n
… who is an amazing gardener. You should see our side yard. He’s an artist.<\/p>\n
… who has come to see pretty nearly every damn show I have ever done<\/i>. That’s dedication.<\/p>\n
… who is the quintessential Stand-up Guy.<\/p>\n
… who is an absolute Red Sox fanatic. I mean, we all are – but my father especially. He knows everything. Not just about the Red Sox, but about baseball in general. Again, random statistics are there for him, at a moment’s notice. He’s great to talk to about baseball.<\/p>\n
… who has helped me to understand James Joyce. I decided a couple years ago (believe it or not, I came to Joyce late) that I needed to just dig in and do it. Read every word. Read the biographies. Just … see how I felt about it. James Joyce changed my life. But it was my dad’s guidance that helped me to “get” James Joyce.<\/p>\n
… who loves art. He and my mother are always taking random afternoon drives into the west of Massachusetts, or the northeastern corner of Connecticut, to go to some random museum that has 3 Edward Hoppers, or 1 Winslow Homer sketch … They’re incredible. All of us children laugh about it. “Where are Mum and Dad?” “Oh … at some museum in Portsmouth or something.” But it’s a great thing.<\/p>\n
… who reads my blog every day. Sometimes he comments. I love it when he does.<\/p>\n
… who supports me in whatever I decide to take on. He’s there<\/i>. He’s just plain there<\/i>.<\/p>\n
… who every year, at Thanksgiving, when we go around the table and say what we’re thankful for, he says: “I say it every year, and I’ll say it again this year. I’m thankful for Sheila Mary.” (My mother.) Every year. Every year he says it. (Lump in throat right now)<\/p>\n
It’s his birthday today. My father. Every day I thank God for him.<\/p>\n
Here’s an EXTREMELY funny (to me, anyway) Diary Friday entry <\/a>about playing Trivial Pursuit with my dad, my mother, and Jean. hahahaha<\/p>\n Happy birthday, Dad!!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" … who played catch with me in the backyard, for years, during my childhood … as dinner was being prepared. We threw the ball back and forth in the cool summer night, with the fireflies blinking … until it got … Continue reading