dedalus_1947 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dedalus_1947) wrote2015-10-09 11:45 am
dedalus_1947) wrote2015-10-09 11:45 am
Home Again
I’ll take you home again, Kathleen,
Across the ocean wild and wide,
To where your heart has ever been
Since you were first my bonnie bride.
Oh! I will take you back, Kathleen,
To where your heart will feel no pain.
And when the fields are fresh and green
I’ll take you to your home again!
To that home beyond the sea
My Kathleen shall again return.
And when thy old friends welcome thee
Thy loving heart will cease to yearn
Where laughs the little silver stream
Beside your mother’s humble cot,
And brightest rays of sunshine gleam.
There all your grief will be forgot.
(I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen: Thomas P. Westendorf – 1875)
Kathy and I have now DEFINITELY decided to celebrate our 40th Wedding Anniversary with a trip to Ireland at the end of December. This has been an on-again, off-again idea over the last two years, influenced in no small way by the age and declining health of Kathy’s father, The Doctor. But during this last vacation after the Doctor’s funeral and burial, we finally decided to do it. Not so strangely (now that I dwell on the conversation), when I told my 90 year-old mother of this decision she reacted quite ambivalently:
“Ay, que bueno, Tony! Pero cuando van a ir a España?” (“Oh, that’s great, Tony! But when are you going to Spain?)
My mother’s question/opinion caught me by surprise, because I’d never been quizzed about wanting to go to Ireland with Kathy, or why visiting the Emerald Isle would take precedence over Spain. The first and obvious reason for going to Ireland was reciprocity. Ireland was the ancestral home of both of Kathy’s parents, and I had already taken her and my son Tony to Mexico in December of 1979 to introduce them to my mother’s family living in and around Mexico City. While there, we visited aunts, uncles, and cousins, and went to museums, the pyramids, and the bullfights. There was an imperative to show them the riches and wealth of Mexico’s history, culture, and arts. Kathy now wanted to show me see the history, culture, art, and geography of her ancestral home. Besides, although Spain is a place I wouldn’t mind visiting some day, it doesn’t rate as my “ancestral home” (unless I wished to consider myself Spanish – which my mother and some of her brothers and sisters do). However, the more I pondered my mother’s question, the more I realized that my wish to see Ireland went deeper than mere “payback” sentiment. In fact, now that we were committed to going, I realized that I always harbored a secret desire to see Ireland, and this desire was fueled by many factors – religion, themes of oppression and resistance, literature, and family.
As far as I’m concerned, being raised Catholic in Cardinal James McIntyre’s Archdiocese of Los Angeles in the 1950’s and 60’s was to be catechized as an Irish Catholic. I belonged to Catholic parishes and went to Catholic schools with many Irish American pastors, priests, brothers, and nuns, who indoctrinated us in an ethnically curious Catholicism. We celebrated St. Patrick’s Day as a religious holy day and a school holiday. We memorized Irish folksongs along with American standards in music class, and we prayed for the Pope, the Conversion of Russia, and the Fighting Irish every Friday before leaving school for the weekend. We were also encouraged to watch an “approved list” of Catholic films with its pantheon of Irish-American stars: Bing Crosby in Going My Way and The Bells of St. Mary’s; Pat O’Brien in Knute Rockne, All-American, and Angels with Dirty Faces; and Mickey Rooney and Spencer Tracy in Boys Town. I identified with these stories and the characters they showcased, and our common religion preserved that relationship. This spiritual baptism into Irish-Catholicism in the 50’s was confirmed during the Kennedy presidential campaign of 1960 and cemented in college with my special fondness for Irish-themed movies and literature.
I think John Fitzgerald Kennedy was the first Democrat my father ever admitted voting for (and my mother openly preferred). My parents were staunch Republicans who were covertly persuaded to support Kennedy because he was Catholic. Of course the nuns in my school made no bones about it – Kennedy, an Irish Catholic, and Catholicism were synonymous. I became a Kennedy Democrat at the age of 12, and despite my father’s influence and my brief infatuation with Goldwater’s libertarianism in 1964, I marched my Kennedy optimism and liberalism into college in 1966. It was there that my Irish-Catholic spirit was awakened anew with my discovery and appreciation of John Ford and his movies. At first, considering him only the John Wayne-director who filmed Stagecoach in 1939, I ultimately learned to value him for the Irish themes and stories he included in many of his films. Some movies were overtly Irish, and became classics, like The Informer and The Quiet Man, but more were subtly themed, like his U.S. Calvary Trilogy (Fort Apache, She Wore A Yellow Ribbon, and Rio Grande), The Grapes of Wrath, and How Green Was My Valley. These movies portrayed heroism, humor, and sacrifice in the face of oppression, exploitation, and greed. These were situations that all Catholics and other ethnic minorities in America faced and struggled with. It was also during these college years that I made two more connections with Ireland and Catholicism – literature and James Joyce.
I discovered James Joyce in an English Literature survey course during my sophomore year at UCLA. The Norton Anthology we used included a couple of his short stories, and the professor added Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man to the Required Reading List. Portrait was an excellent introduction to Anglo-Irish literature, Joyce, and the stream of consciousness style that he was developing. But more important for me, I made a lifelong connection with the protagonist, Stephen Dedalus, a young man struggling to liberate himself from the historical vestiges of British colonialism and prejudice, and from the stifling artistic repression of the Catholic Church in Ireland. His nightmarish chapter describing the tortures inflicted on young students during a religious retreat was reminiscent of the countless guilt-driven lectures and threatening admonitions I heard from priests, brothers, and nuns against pornography, masturbation, alcohol, and general sinfulness. While All-American Holden Caulfield sought liberation from his New England-Ivy League values and expectations, Irish-Catholic Stephen Dedalus sought freedom to pursue a life of artistic expression. I found him a much better person on whom to model myself. Joyce opened the door to a slew of Irish authors and poets who would fascinate me for years to come: Oscar Wilde, Liam O’Flaherty, George Bernard Shaw, Sean O’Casey, and William Yeats. By the time I finished college, however, my interest in Ireland and the Irish had waned to only a few annual observations – St. Patrick Day celebrations at Irish pubs with my friend Greg Ryan and the Riley brothers, and cheering for Notre Dame football against USC. Dealing with the draft, enlisting in the Air Force, and hanging out with friends took up most of my time until my father’s death released me from military service and set me on a path to teaching. That route reached a crossroad, however, when teacher friends introduced me to Kathleen Mavourneen Greaney and I met her Irish Catholic family.
I had considered my parents’ families as unequaled in their nationalistic pride and passion for their ethnic and cultural heritage. I grew up in an environment where Spanish was spoken by everyone, Mexican Mariachi and bolero songs and music were played all day, and Mexican history, art, and culture were appreciated and esteemed by all. I definitely met their match with the Irish pride of Kathy’s parents, Edward Michael Greaney and Mary Cavanaugh. As early as my first meeting with the Doctor, he proudly proclaimed his staunch Irish Catholicism, related impassioned stories of dealing with the anti-Irish prejudices and biases in the New England of his youth, and explained how an ethnic quota system defined the number of Jews and Irish Catholics who were allowed to attend respectable medical schools. In a much nicer tone and through her stories and sayings, Mary communicated the Irish values, traditions, and superstitions that were a part of Irish-American life in the early 1900’s. Meeting the Irish-Catholic Greaneys gave me a unique perspective from which to compare my own ethnic, cultural, and national pride. I recognized our commonalities and prized and appreciated them both. Eventually I would become part of the Irish-American family with the birth of my son and daughter.
Whew, that was a long meandering road to explaining my reasons for wanting to go to Ireland! Perhaps it serves as a metaphor for the evolution of my feelings about Ireland over time – from a youthful fascination with Catholic rituals that were Irish accented and shaded in emerald hues, an intellectual appreciation of Irish-themed film and literature, and finally to my being welcomed into the Greaney family. Putting intellect aside and thinking personally and emotionally, what ultimately won me over to Ireland, the Irish, and the uniqueness of Irish Americans were the births of my son and daughter, Tony and Teresa. No amount of Irish Catholicism, literature, or history, can trump the fact that my son and daughter are physical descendents of Ireland and Mexico – two very special countries, histories, and cultures. They are very open, proud, and verbal about their Old and New World roots. In fact, they, along with their other 3 Irish/Mexican-American cousins (Maria Teresa Apablasa, and Marisa and Eduardo Samaniego), created their own ethnic designation for themselves. They are the “Irexicans” of the family. So honestly, I suppose I’m most curious to see the ancestral home of my wife and children, because they are my family, and I am a part of them. So I guess I’m going to Ireland because, in a way, I’m going home too.
Across the ocean wild and wide,
To where your heart has ever been
Since you were first my bonnie bride.
Oh! I will take you back, Kathleen,
To where your heart will feel no pain.
And when the fields are fresh and green
I’ll take you to your home again!
To that home beyond the sea
My Kathleen shall again return.
And when thy old friends welcome thee
Thy loving heart will cease to yearn
Where laughs the little silver stream
Beside your mother’s humble cot,
And brightest rays of sunshine gleam.
There all your grief will be forgot.
(I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen: Thomas P. Westendorf – 1875)
Kathy and I have now DEFINITELY decided to celebrate our 40th Wedding Anniversary with a trip to Ireland at the end of December. This has been an on-again, off-again idea over the last two years, influenced in no small way by the age and declining health of Kathy’s father, The Doctor. But during this last vacation after the Doctor’s funeral and burial, we finally decided to do it. Not so strangely (now that I dwell on the conversation), when I told my 90 year-old mother of this decision she reacted quite ambivalently:
“Ay, que bueno, Tony! Pero cuando van a ir a España?” (“Oh, that’s great, Tony! But when are you going to Spain?)
My mother’s question/opinion caught me by surprise, because I’d never been quizzed about wanting to go to Ireland with Kathy, or why visiting the Emerald Isle would take precedence over Spain. The first and obvious reason for going to Ireland was reciprocity. Ireland was the ancestral home of both of Kathy’s parents, and I had already taken her and my son Tony to Mexico in December of 1979 to introduce them to my mother’s family living in and around Mexico City. While there, we visited aunts, uncles, and cousins, and went to museums, the pyramids, and the bullfights. There was an imperative to show them the riches and wealth of Mexico’s history, culture, and arts. Kathy now wanted to show me see the history, culture, art, and geography of her ancestral home. Besides, although Spain is a place I wouldn’t mind visiting some day, it doesn’t rate as my “ancestral home” (unless I wished to consider myself Spanish – which my mother and some of her brothers and sisters do). However, the more I pondered my mother’s question, the more I realized that my wish to see Ireland went deeper than mere “payback” sentiment. In fact, now that we were committed to going, I realized that I always harbored a secret desire to see Ireland, and this desire was fueled by many factors – religion, themes of oppression and resistance, literature, and family.
As far as I’m concerned, being raised Catholic in Cardinal James McIntyre’s Archdiocese of Los Angeles in the 1950’s and 60’s was to be catechized as an Irish Catholic. I belonged to Catholic parishes and went to Catholic schools with many Irish American pastors, priests, brothers, and nuns, who indoctrinated us in an ethnically curious Catholicism. We celebrated St. Patrick’s Day as a religious holy day and a school holiday. We memorized Irish folksongs along with American standards in music class, and we prayed for the Pope, the Conversion of Russia, and the Fighting Irish every Friday before leaving school for the weekend. We were also encouraged to watch an “approved list” of Catholic films with its pantheon of Irish-American stars: Bing Crosby in Going My Way and The Bells of St. Mary’s; Pat O’Brien in Knute Rockne, All-American, and Angels with Dirty Faces; and Mickey Rooney and Spencer Tracy in Boys Town. I identified with these stories and the characters they showcased, and our common religion preserved that relationship. This spiritual baptism into Irish-Catholicism in the 50’s was confirmed during the Kennedy presidential campaign of 1960 and cemented in college with my special fondness for Irish-themed movies and literature.
I think John Fitzgerald Kennedy was the first Democrat my father ever admitted voting for (and my mother openly preferred). My parents were staunch Republicans who were covertly persuaded to support Kennedy because he was Catholic. Of course the nuns in my school made no bones about it – Kennedy, an Irish Catholic, and Catholicism were synonymous. I became a Kennedy Democrat at the age of 12, and despite my father’s influence and my brief infatuation with Goldwater’s libertarianism in 1964, I marched my Kennedy optimism and liberalism into college in 1966. It was there that my Irish-Catholic spirit was awakened anew with my discovery and appreciation of John Ford and his movies. At first, considering him only the John Wayne-director who filmed Stagecoach in 1939, I ultimately learned to value him for the Irish themes and stories he included in many of his films. Some movies were overtly Irish, and became classics, like The Informer and The Quiet Man, but more were subtly themed, like his U.S. Calvary Trilogy (Fort Apache, She Wore A Yellow Ribbon, and Rio Grande), The Grapes of Wrath, and How Green Was My Valley. These movies portrayed heroism, humor, and sacrifice in the face of oppression, exploitation, and greed. These were situations that all Catholics and other ethnic minorities in America faced and struggled with. It was also during these college years that I made two more connections with Ireland and Catholicism – literature and James Joyce.
I had considered my parents’ families as unequaled in their nationalistic pride and passion for their ethnic and cultural heritage. I grew up in an environment where Spanish was spoken by everyone, Mexican Mariachi and bolero songs and music were played all day, and Mexican history, art, and culture were appreciated and esteemed by all. I definitely met their match with the Irish pride of Kathy’s parents, Edward Michael Greaney and Mary Cavanaugh. As early as my first meeting with the Doctor, he proudly proclaimed his staunch Irish Catholicism, related impassioned stories of dealing with the anti-Irish prejudices and biases in the New England of his youth, and explained how an ethnic quota system defined the number of Jews and Irish Catholics who were allowed to attend respectable medical schools. In a much nicer tone and through her stories and sayings, Mary communicated the Irish values, traditions, and superstitions that were a part of Irish-American life in the early 1900’s. Meeting the Irish-Catholic Greaneys gave me a unique perspective from which to compare my own ethnic, cultural, and national pride. I recognized our commonalities and prized and appreciated them both. Eventually I would become part of the Irish-American family with the birth of my son and daughter.
Whew, that was a long meandering road to explaining my reasons for wanting to go to Ireland! Perhaps it serves as a metaphor for the evolution of my feelings about Ireland over time – from a youthful fascination with Catholic rituals that were Irish accented and shaded in emerald hues, an intellectual appreciation of Irish-themed film and literature, and finally to my being welcomed into the Greaney family. Putting intellect aside and thinking personally and emotionally, what ultimately won me over to Ireland, the Irish, and the uniqueness of Irish Americans were the births of my son and daughter, Tony and Teresa. No amount of Irish Catholicism, literature, or history, can trump the fact that my son and daughter are physical descendents of Ireland and Mexico – two very special countries, histories, and cultures. They are very open, proud, and verbal about their Old and New World roots. In fact, they, along with their other 3 Irish/Mexican-American cousins (Maria Teresa Apablasa, and Marisa and Eduardo Samaniego), created their own ethnic designation for themselves. They are the “Irexicans” of the family. So honestly, I suppose I’m most curious to see the ancestral home of my wife and children, because they are my family, and I am a part of them. So I guess I’m going to Ireland because, in a way, I’m going home too.