What of my brief life in Ireland? Honestly, I didn’t miss it at all as an 8-year-old desperate to see his Mom and delighted to reconnect with his older half-siblings. In fact, I refused to travel back to Ireland with Mom in 1984 for fear of being left there again! I did come back to Ireland in 1985. I suppose by that point I was secure in the feeling that I would be on the return flight back to the States. The trip was great fun. I remember Wimbledon and watching a 17-year-old German named Boris Becker become the youngest champion in history. We visited familiar faces and enjoyed the long summer evenings. However, an unexpected wave of sadness washed over me when it was time to travel back to Chicago. We were leaving the Noone’s house in Barna to depart for the airport; Patrick’s older brother Liam was giving us a lift. The tears welled up in me and then poured out. I heaved with my head bowed. I was utterly overcome by confused feelings that I could not begin to understand as a 10-year-old. Looking back, it was the latent feeling of loss as I left behind my first friends and a place that had made a truly lasting mark on me. There is a mourning of sorts for the version of life that could have been but never was.
I returned again in 1986 by myself for a more extended visit of 5 weeks. That would be a remarkable summer of fun that saw me split time between Dublin and Galway. I will soon write about this extended holiday in more detail. It was by some distance the best summer of my childhood. Then there would be a nine-year gap where I would not set foot in Ireland again until 1995. I have since travelled back to Ireland in 2003, 2008, 2014, 2019, 2021, and 2022. If you add up all my trips since I left in 1983, it is less than 10 times.
It is not so easy to describe the difference between life in Ireland and the States. From my perspective, the people look at life differently, they speak differently, not just the accent, the vocabulary, and expressions, it goes beyond that. Conversation is highly valued in Ireland. I think some of that is derived from the fact that there wasn’t as much to do. In the US there were so many diversions and distractions compared to Ireland. That isn’t as true today, but it was in the early 1980’s.
The sights, sounds, and tastes are distinctly different. The bread and dairy are miles better in Ireland. Produce in Chicago is far more varied and plentiful than the limited and sometimes sorry looking produce sections I see in Irish supermarkets. Americans pulverize their desserts with sugar. In Ireland, treats (nobody calls them treats in America unless they are being purchased for the dog) are tastier, the flavours more distinct and vibrant. This goes for the cakes, tarts, breads, and ice cream. On the flip side, in the US there is a tremendous variety of goods to choose from. A city like Chicago offers access to products from around the world. Then again, in Ireland people are not as fussed with being able to have anything anytime they want. There is more of a contentment with enjoying what is available without obsessing about what you don’t have. Once again, I think this is where the mentality is profoundly different.
The models of cars are different. I’m always fascinated to see the makes and models that are popular in Ireland. Brands like Opel, Peugeot, Renault, Citroen, and Skoda are commonplace in Ireland but have no US presence. The houses are built from hardier materials in Ireland. While the older two flats in Chicago are made from rock solid brick buildings, the structures built after 1960 don’t have the same build quality. In Ireland, the building materials seem to have an unusual density to them. Traditionally, they are constructed from concrete and block which creates and incredible solidity and durability. Walking is a key component to Irish life. People walk every day as opposed to most Americans who are accustomed to driving almost everywhere.
A Peugeot estate from 1982. They don’t call them station wagons in Ireland or the UK.
I wonder which aspects of my Irish experience have stayed with me. I find myself able to easily slip into conversation with Irish people I happen upon in Chicago. When I’m in Ireland, I welcome the opportunity to use expressions and words that people in the US don’t use. My accent will drift into a slight Irish lilt as the utilization of Irish expressions lends itself to that tendency. It is as if a very old reflex is activated. At times I’m annoyed with myself when it happens because I can see how it would be perceived as a put-on that isn’t authentic. Then again, when I was back in 2019 talking with my Aunt Brini she remarked that I seemed to fit right in. I think that is what I find to be a little confounding is I could easily see myself living a life In Dublin or Galway. I remind myself it was only three and a half years I spent in Ireland. Maybe four years if you add up all the trip made during the late 1970’s. Yet, those years happened to pass during a vital, formative period. It would have been very different had I come to live in Ireland later in my life. For example, if I had never lived in Ireland and Mom had chosen to move there when I was 13 or 14 the experience would have no doubt been profoundly different. My sister Joan spent ages 14-18 in Ireland, more specifically in Dublin. This was in the early 1970’s. While we share a sense of humour strongly influenced by our time in Ireland, she never had any urge to go back. She has travelled to Ireland only a couple of times as an adult.
While I was writing this memoir, the way I was constructing sentences somehow activated the UK spellcheck. Then at other junctures it would revert to the American spellcheck. I thought this was fitting, seeing as I was walking between two different worlds of expression. It somehow captured the conundrum of writing about a place that was fundamentally different from my current patch.
My own identity conflicts in some ways. I’m American by birth and have lived in the US for over 45 years. Yet, I don’t think of myself as an American in the same way as someone who has been here for generations. My roots in the States are not deep and I feel myself at times removed from certain aspects of the culture. My ties to Ireland, while still present are weakening. My children know it only from a couple of holidays. My wife would rather travel to Great Britain, Italy or Germany as opposed to another trip to Ireland. My Mother is well into her 90’s and no longer able to take a transatlantic flight. The last time I was in Ireland I traveled alone. There is a part of me that mourns the seeming inevitability that this drift will continue. I’m caught in a grey area where I’m unwilling to let go of where I’m from and wary of fully embracing where I am.
My Irishness stays with me in a certain ways. I still enjoy walking and good conversation. I love to laugh and pass the time with good company over a few beers. I drink tea with milk and enjoy simple pleasures such as good bread with rich butter. Beef stew remains one of my favourite dishes and I’ve even come to appreciate boiled cabbage and ham. I suppose even writing this memoir taps into the tendency of the Irish to express their thoughts on paper. Although I don’t think that the ghosts of James Joyce or George Bernard Shaw have anything to worry about.
Physically, I certainly look the part with the shape of my big head and facial features. I can sometimes see these same traits when I visit Ireland. It is odd when I can identify someone with a similar type of physicality. My height and weight are consistent with that of a GAA player, 1.88 meters and 12.8 stone or 6’2 and 180lbs.
There are aspects of Irish culture I never took to or had great fondness for. I’m relatively indifferent to traditional Irish music, although it does make for lovely ambiance in a pub. When I listen Irish podcasts sometimes, I shake my head at the provincial mindset. Ireland stands on the doorstep of Europe, yet we do seem to stay rather oblivious to the rest of the continent unless on holiday.
I recently contemplated the question: What would have happened had I stayed in Ireland?
Firstly, I would have been much more heavily involved in organized sport had I stayed in Galway. There is no doubt in my mind about that. I had taken the first steps in that direction in spring of 1983. Without sounding big-headed, I think I would have made a handy GAA player. Regular trips to Dublin to see my cousins would have been a part of my itinerary as well
Transatlantic trips would have been annual at the maximum and only during summer. This is probably the hardest scenario to envision. I don’t know how I would have handled that emotionally. When I was 8 years old it was a case of out of sight, out of mind. Maybe it would have been every two years with Mom coming over to Ireland in the alternating years.
I can say with some conviction that I would have inevitably caught island fever by my late teens. Life would have taken me back to Chicago eventually. The only factor that could have changed my course was if I had met a girl while in Ireland.
Regardless, there is a deep love of Ireland that remains and always will. My Mother’s longing for Ireland has been passed along to me. The recognition that I am Irish makes me deeply happy and proud.
A friend of mine who read these memoirs made the observation that this story is about my mom. He was so right. Mom is a native Irish speaker, who grew up speaking Gaelic as a first language. When she spoke with her now deceased sister on the phone, they always conversed in Irish. I used to joke that the two of them sounded like two turkeys gobbling away. But they would yammer away for nearly an hour on the phone. It gave her true pleasure to express herself in her native tongue. As a young woman, she was so eager to get to America and have that adventure. However, over time she longed to come back to Ireland. It is not as simple as wanting to go home to what you’re familiar with, although that is certainly part of it. There is a way of life there that is so profoundly different to life in the United States. I don’t have the words to truly convey those differences. It is not just a way of life but a way of being. She was always so obviously happy amongst her people. It is no accident that her best friends in the US were fellow Irish immigrants. Very interesting to note however, is that her older sister never returned to Ireland after emigrating to the States. It’s not everyone who has that longing to come back.
Even in her senior years my mom considered moving back to Ireland. She would often bemoan that fact that by the time she had enough money to buy a modest property back home she was too old. Now, whenever I see her, she asks me if I would ever buy a home in Ireland. I tell her that I would if the situation was right. We talk about buying a place in Barna, Spiddal, Clifden, or around Galway. I usually then finish by telling her that I’d likely buy a place in Swords if I had to make a choice. Mom always approves and mentions how it is so close to Malahide, one of her favourite spots in Ireland. She is at her most vibrant and engaged when discussing life in Ireland and news from Galway and Dublin. Having had that shared experience with her is something I cherish.
A few years ago, I decided to find out just how Irish I was. According to Ancestry.com, my DNA shows as 100% Irish. No big surprise there but the test also highlights the regions in Ireland that light up with your ancestry. The only part of Ireland that lit up for me was county Galway. To be more precise it was southern Connemara. I met up with my old friend Stephen Corbett in February of 2022.
He was taken aback when I told him where my people were from. According to Stephen, the people back there are known for being a rough sort. It’s not surprising, seeing as the land is hard and rich greenery sparse. The environment shapes you to some degree. Sometimes, when I dwell on it for a few moments, my chest swells up and my eyes burn when I think about my parent’s modest origins. I feel very fortunate to have had a brief taste of authentic Irish life. Thanks Mom.
Ireland 1979-1983 