Dear Jack & Clare,
One of the things that I love the most about being back is the language. The way that it's used and, on occasion, abused. Phrases purloined from here and grafted on to there. It's a tremendously rich and colourful brew that goes to make up the everyday phraseology of the people I meet.
A journalist that I knew in London often used to say how much he loved the Irish peoples' way with words. Although he would come out with this in a manner that made my hackles rise, I find myself agreeing with him more and more since my return. The difference being that he said it with a patronising, "tolerant smile" and I state it simply with great pleasure and admiration, for it makes my day richer and adds colour to it.
What has spurred me to this observation is a wonderful, if somewhat coarse, piece of advice I overheard on Sunday morning last. Encouraged by a clear, breezy sky, I strapped you into your seat on the back of my bicycle and headed off along the the coast paths towards Dun Laoghaire. By the time I had sweated my unfit, wobbly way as far as the Martello tower at Monkstown beach you had fallen asleep. So I stopped, picked you out of the seat, eased off your helmet and lay back on the grass, looking out to sea with you, out for the count, lying on my coat beside me.
After some time I noticed out of the corner of my eye another father and son coming up from the beach towards a very shiny, slick looking Japanese car parked nearby. "Ah Jaysus," said Dad. "We've only a flat!" He proceeded to the boot and started taking out the spare wheel plus some tools. Now, to an adult, such a situation is, at best, an annoyance and, at worst, a calamity depending upon the amount of time required to get to where you're going. To a little boy of what looked like two or two and a half years old, it's wonderful. Unusual. New.
The little lad was intent on helping Daddy. He carried each tool, thrown carelessly and possibly a little angrily on to the grass by Daddy, over to the site of the wheel changing operation. When Daddy became aware of his efforts, to his credit, he paused and thanked him loudly, calling him his "little hod carrier. A proper little hoddie, arntcha!" Thus encouraged. Junior then proceeded to pick up each tool again and to examine each one with impressive concentration. At last he was finished. The Mallet. It had to be. It had a big, dirty white rubber head with a silvery metal handle that glistened in the sun. Not only did it make a satisfying thud when you hit something with it but it also bounced back! Fantastic.
This bouncing business merited further investigation. So the grass was thumped with the mallet, as was the concrete kerb and the tarmac, the spare tyre, a nearby lamp post, a metal fence. And so on, until the bumper of Daddy's car got a clout while Daddy was halfway underneath checking out an apparent oil leak. Out came Daddy, spied the beaming mallet wielder of Monkstown lining up for delivery of another two handed slap to the bumper and let out a roar:"Mikey! Stop! Enough now or I'll take dat offaya!" Undeterred, the aforementioned Mikey continues his swing, misses the fender, hits the concrete kerb and catches the rebounding mallet with his face!
A wail that would do a convoy of ambulances proud rises up and takes possession of the ears of all and sundry on Monkstown beach. Mikey is picked up and checked for damage and then cuddled fiercely with loads of "yer alright! Yer alright!" thrown in. The wail begins to descend a few decibels and gradually becomes a whimper. Daddy decides that Mikey is ready for a little advice on the subject of tools and delivers the following brief homily which I think will stay with me to the end of my days.
He fixes Mikey, now esconced on his lap, with a frank stare and says, "look Son, be careful will ya. A hammer is like your dick. Just cos it's designed for it doesn't mean ya have to go banging everything in sight! Sooner or later it'll rebound on ya." Satisfied that he'd done his parental duty, he packed Mikey into his car seat, finished the wheelchange and drove off. I looked down to find you gazing up at me with those huge blue eyes so I copied Mikey's Dad and we headed off too.
