Uncle Tom

    

      The first Irish music I heard was at my Uncle Tom's house. Every year after the parade we would gather there... my father's family, The Currans. My dad's siblings: Aunty Peggy, Uncle Tom, Uncle Jerry and all of our cousins would gather in the living room and listen at the feet of our parents to stories many times told. We would watch them laughing and telling jokes and eventually, if the day went just right, and the sun had set and the beer had flowed long enough... they would sing. It would start with records: The Clancy Brothers, Tommy Makem, my Uncle Tom had them all. And there , the three brothers would sit up very straight and tall. They would start soft and take a cue from the other and eventually, they would meet up somewhere in the middle. Tom seemed to know the words the best, Jerry would harmonize and my dad would carry the tune a little better than the others (I might be partial though). They usually screwed up the lyrics and forgot which verse came next, but they sang on, committed to their merrymaking and their legacy. And we would listen, even if we had left the room and were almost out of ear shot... we would listen. And then we would wait every year for the ritual to repeat itself... for family to gather and be something we weren't really didn't get to be every other day of the year. Together.

         On this St. Patrick's Day, my Uncle is going home. He is going to be with his wife who has been waiting for him. I have a feeling that the heavens will never be the same again. For surely this world is forever changed because of them. Changed in ways they likely never thought to imagine, in ways that will be carried on by their family and friends. So much left to say but the words seem powerless and ineffective. I think you really did just have to know them.