1000 words on...my mother (years of admiration)
Of course my mother wasn’t going to be too wild about Debbie Molloy. I was going out with Ruth while I was in college, and seeing Debbie while I worked in the pub. They were two separate worlds, and I was happy to drift back and forth between them and their respective relationships, safe in the knowledge that it wasn’t REALLY that important that I make a decision right away. Considering she had received less than ideal treatment from the men in her life, I can perfectly understand Maura’s disdain at my playing the field.
But wait a minute – she was both 40 years old, and my mother. Who else did I have to confide in? I was just a 21-year-old and very confused, and drifting along aimlessly. My grandparents were hardly going to understand; they barely understood Maura and she was only ONE generation away. Had she used her considerable intelligence to give proper thought to the situation, she would have realised she needed to have a talk with me about the direction in which I was headed, or at least something “grown-up” like that. And when I asked her to come down to Glennon’s to meet Debbie, she could at least have been civil to the girl upon meeting her. Instead she blanked her and said nothing to me at all. EVER. About ANYTHING.
I have to separate my entries about my mother because my history with her can be split into two discernable phases, that when I worshipped her and that when I despaired of her. The incident described above was probably the best one that demonstrated the shift from one phase into the other for me, though it was a gradual transition.
As I grew up, the fact that my mother allowed her parents to not only take charge of raising me, but actually let them take me 5000 miles away was NEVER a factor in my thoughts. She would fly over to visit once a year, and when she did, it was for me like a rock star was coming to my home for a few weeks. She would have cool presents for me in her suitcase when she arrived, mostly toys and games that hadn’t reached Ireland’s shores yet. My grandmother also once noted that I wasn’t as affectionate towards her when Maura visited, so I guess having a younger good looking woman around had its attractions as well.
The fact that no sooner did she arrive than she was off out going to pubs and picking up blokes with her Irish set of friends did not play a factor either. No resentment, no dislike of the various men she would talk about. I just liked having her over. I called her Mommy. She would bring me to the movies. We had our little routines, like “I love you” “I love you too!” “I love you three” “I love you more than you love me!”
One Sunday evening, when I was about 13, she made the strange decision to stay in and watch television with me. I think it was The Sunday Game, RTÉ’s highlights show of the day’s GAA matches. I thought it a bit odd that she was watching this with me, but I guess it felt good her being there. Then right out of the blue she says “Jeff, you know your father and I were never married, right?” to which I replied something like “Of course I did!” and just went on watching the telly. She then went upstairs to report to Grandma how the whole thing went. I eavesdropped from the bottom of the stairs, but honestly can’t for the life of me remember anything that was said. I guess I was surprised that she thought I couldn’t have worked out that little nugget of information for myself, but after that I didn’t really give it much thought.
That is the opening verse from a song I wrote called “Patient Did Not Wish To Divulge Any Information", and is about the night I read through my birth cert for the first time. It didn’t really bother me at the time, at all. Oh, and she didn’t really cry.
Our favourite conversation topic was Star Wars. We really clicked on that one. My grandparents reluctantly brought me to the first instalment soon after we arrived in Ireland in 1977, but it was clear that it would be up to my mother to bring me to the following sequels. I was so happy to be with my Mommy that it took me a good 16 years to be actually embarrassed by her loud American room-dominating laughter that would encompass the movie theatre at every comedic moment. It didn’t even bother me when she would come and watch my soccer games.
It’s always hard to remember a time when you didn’t know something. Back then, I did not know what it was like to have children. I was not in a position to be bewildered at the state of mind a person would have to be in to give up being at least within the same time zone as their offspring. Since I am in such a position right now, I suppose it behoves me to ask her. But since this piece is about the time before this realisation, I can honestly say it was all good.
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