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A Good Man, My Father
How can I explain my father to you? I guess real and unreal would be the best way, if you know what I mean. It was as though there were more than one of him but we never knew which one was coming home that night. When he got home the smallest thing could change him into one of his other unreal selves. He seemed to be in control of what he did but sometimes - sometimes - he would lose control and go crazy. That's when he'd throw his meals into the back of the open fire, shout and hit James and me. Then he would go to the pub. When he arrived home he would sometimes bring small gifts of peanuts or barley-sugar sticks. It was at these times that I could both love and hate him as one emotion. It was never knowing how he'd be which was the biggest problem. It was the waiting to find out which caused so much pain.
He was capable of doing the most extraordinary things.This was the man who held a huge crowd outside thechurch with the power of his passionate oratory. This was the man easy to love. During the service the priest had urged the congregation to vote Conservative in the next local election. My father held that crowd for an hour or more and convinced them that they should vote Labour. Labour won.
The living room of our house was often used as a meeting room where people would come to seek my father's help. His great ability in letter writing was much in demand as was his knowledge of welfare rights. He was always available to those in need, always ready to help the underdog, always giving of himself. I was so proud to be his son at these times. He was a man of vast contradictions. He was an active member of the Anti-Partition of Ireland League and had addressed huge crowds from the back of a lorry in the heart of Dublin about a non-violent solution to the Irish question as being the only right and proper way forward. I have a photograph of him doing this and will treasure it always. He was self-taught and angry about social injustices. He wanted to be a doctor and became a bricklayer instead. There was a time when he was devoted to his Catholic faith and became a lecturer for the Catholic Truth Society. His ability to hold crowds with his quick wit and sincere passion gained much admiration from me. He was a good man. In his heart he must have been. He just wasn't able to translate that goodness into his family. Perhaps it was 'the drink', which he took to after he was thirty and which provided the escape he so obviously needed. I feel sorry for him and perhaps you should too. Judge him at your peril. Judge him and you will fail to understand anything of what I plan to tell you about him. To judge him is to judge a piece of history, a time gone by. If you can, instead, love him then there is hope for all our futures.
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