Learning your ABC's...

(okay - I promised to lighten up with these posts...this is lighter, but I can't get off this writing kick lately...I'll get back to freestyle from the hip soon - I promise...just gotta get this stuff out of my system!)

It was St. Patrick’s Day 2000, and I had met my parents for a traditional, liquor soaked, Irish Breakfast. The pub was crowded, a pennywhistle was playing a lively reel, and haze clung heavily to the tawny sunlight saturating the room. The aroma of breakfast fare and fresh baked soda bread was peppered with the pungent tang of pipe tobacco.

“Let’s go to Ireland” my mother blurted.
We fell quiet, then broke out laughing.
“Today?” I grinned, and polished off my pint.
“No, September – all 20 of us – a reunion!” she smiled. The ice in her empty whisky tumbler clinked and the glass made a resolute “thunk” as she set it on the polished oak table.

This breakfast set in motion a chain of events that saw this seemingly off the cuff quip become reality. Holidays had sparse turnouts due to a long family history of personality conflicts. It seemed that bringing us to our collective identity, Ireland, was the only way to bring us together at all. While faced with an unfamiliar dialect at the airport, I realized that families are a lot like other countries: just because you share an alphabet doesn’t mean you speak the same language.

Our arrival in Shannon was chaotic, we had lost luggage, people and car reservations. Since Ireland is an “English speaking country“, I hadn’t given a thought to possible language barriers, until Customs. The agent told me the “crack” was great in Limerick, our destination, and “You’ll ‘ave good fun widdit“. That got my attention. I started noticing more as we waited: diapers were nappies, naps were kips; pacifiers were dummies, a dummy was a plonker, kids were snappers and craic (“crack”) was good humor.

My kids were famished, so I ordered a lemonade and a ham sandwich at the deli. The clerk queried:
“D’ja mean a lemon-squash or an Orange Club?”
Feeling stupid I said, “Water’s fine.“
“An’ woodja’ be havin’ a salad witcher sanwich?”

I learned the hard way this meant cabbage slaw ON the sandwich, not leafy greens next to it.

We found Ma in the shadow of her luggage. She was old-fashioned, a real Mary Hick; she had packed two of everything. One set could be checked through, and she could carry on a miniature version, “just in case“. Her bags were crammed full of everything from hand sanitizer and toilet seat covers to groceries (messages) and clean underwear (drawers) – all of which she offered at every opportunity.

I scanned the rest of our weary group. My younger sister had disappeared into the nearest restroom (bog/jacks) with her substantial cosmetic bag for a complete makeover. My older brother Terry and his kids were just the opposite - bumpkins (bogtrotters). Terry’s hair stood on end and he needed three shaves; his clothes had given up all hope of ever being washed and were just hanging on for dear life – he was in complete flitters. He couldn’t have cared less. Terry lived life on his own terms, which made him a “black sheep” to some.

We discovered that my brothers Tim and John had missed their connections. Tim was a confirmed bachelor, world traveler and unapologetic (except around mother) pot smoker. He was a millionaire who wore only tracksuits and runners. He was miserly but fun, and fiercely loyal. He’d give you the shirt off his back, but you’d better buy him a new one in return. John had been away the longest. Time and distance were his self-imposed penance for an alternative lifestyle. In the States, he smoked cigarettes and was a fag; in Ireland he smoked fags and was a steamer.

Given the glaring differences between us, it’s no wonder we rarely got together. I guess between the rednecks, yuppies, dreamers, snobs and slackers that are my family, it had always been easier to underline differences rather than remember commonalities. A family reunion in a foreign country ultimately helped us remember those common threads: love, family, heritage, and failing all else, an alphabet.