St. Patrick’s Day is an appropriate time to reflect on The Boy’s Irish side. After all, right now people all over the city are getting drunk and bragging about being Irish. Some are even in traditional Irish dress: green foam hats, shamrock necklaces, and vomit-speckled shoes.
I only hear people brag about being Irish when they’re talking about drinking or actually drinking. It’s a sucker’s move. The drink has crushed a lot of great Irish (among others) and it’s only romantic from a distance. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve embraced the drink plenty. In our youth, my brothers and I worked out a neat little routine called tequila chugging. And at one time my drink of choice was a funnel of Jack Daniels. I eventually evolved to a rocks glass - but please - no rocks. I’m no stranger to the drink but it’s silly and demeaning to attach it to your Irishness.
When The Boy’s old enough, instead of introducing him to shamrocks and whiskey and green beer I’ll make sure he knows about a couple of Redmonds. There are a lot of them in my family. I’ll make sure he knows that his great grandfather, my mother’s father, Redmond Burke, came over from County Kerry on the Lusitania after foregoing his scheduled passage on the Titanic because his suit wasn’t ready. Grandpa, I hope you tipped that tailor. And I’ll make sure The Boy knows that this Redmond enlisted in the Navy in 1918 and then worked for the NYPD and provided opportunities to his children that he never would have had back on the farm.
And I’ll tell The Boy about my Uncle Redmond who passed away last year. His Veteran’s Day funeral inspired my post about the endless, ignored war in Afghanistan. In the days around his passing I learned that Uncle Redmond enlisted in the Navy before he even finished high school to fight in WWII. At the funeral home I heard about a letter he’d written in which he described an encounter with Kamikaze pilots at sea. The closest I’ve come to facing a Kamikaze pilot is when my dogs charge me when I’ve been away from home too long. Like his father, Uncle Redmond went on to the NYPD, working there for 39 years while rising to the rank of Captain. He worked in the infamous Bronx precinct nicknamed Fort Apache. I suppose staring down the Kamikaze pilots was good training for his time on the Force.
While I didn’t spend much time with these Redmonds I’ve always carried a lot of respect for them and for that entire side of my family - my mother’s side - my Irish half. It won’t be hard to inform The Boy about his Irish side. For one, the family’s been steadily working on the genealogy so we’ll have the who’s and where’s of it all. And the topic is bound to come up when he's old enough to start asking about his name: Enrico Lucas Redmond Gullo.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day
P.S. I’m drunk.