About A Boy

“You’re on the road
But you’ve got no destination
You’re in the mud
In the maze of her imagination

You love this town
Even if that doesn’t ring true
You’ve been all over
And it’s been all over you

It’s a beautiful day
Don’t let it get away
It’s a beautiful day”

Hewson/Claytonl/Mullen/Evans

For the uninitiated, Spotify present each of their subscribers with an end of year ‘Your Top Songs of 2022’ and it always throws up surprises for me. And yes ,, you’re right, it is a surprise how incredibly awesome my playlist is, and what impeccable taste I have.

But more of that later.

The Spotify crew call this ‘2022 Wrapped’.

Something else that ‘wrapped’ this week was Jake’s education in Galway University. My SoulMate and I travelled over for his graduation. We went for dinner on Monday night and attended the graduation on Tuesday morning.

I thought we’d struck lucky as they were awarding the scrolls in alphabetical order, but my Soulmate quickly and quietly told me that we had to wait for all of them to be presented.

When Jake’s name was called I resisted shouting out “Hon The Town !” , as I’d threatened the night before, and applauded loudly instead. I looked in awe as this fine young man strode across the stage with his degree curled up in his hand. He smiled at us as he made his way back to his seat.

Is this him now ? This brilliant young man ?

Where is the wee fella I carried around our kitchen in Clane , dancing and singing U2’s ‘Beautiful Day’ ?

The little chubby baby in his Santa babygro when we came home to Monaghan that Christmas, and I discovered, on Christmas morning, that I’d forgotten to pack any milk formula ?

The kid who , when we were driving home from Lady Dixon Park in Belfast, interrupted my SoulMate remonstrating with me over something with “Don’t have a cow Man.” , which in turn led to he and I being banned from watching The Simpsons, for a year.

The boy with the vivid imagination, who ‘wrote’ on our car with the ‘magic stone’, before dropping it down the air pipe in our septic tank, blocking it, and leading to me digging a pit in our garden to remove it.

The boy who’s eyes would sting sometimes in the face of any injustice he witnessed at school.

The boy who turned up for training and every match for Drumkill Rovers, knowing he would be a sub, and rarely played.

The boy who knew what he wanted to do at secondary school and did it.

The boy who looked after others.

The boy who acted on stage , playing James Plunkett in the Easter 1916 centenary play, and made me cry.

The boy who fancied himself as a guitar player, and played The White Stripes ‘ Seven Nation Army’ so many times that… it made me cry….

The boy who took me to McKenna’s for his first pint.

The boy who stood up against bullying.

The boy who hitchhiked to Galway as a teenager, despite not having the first clue which road to take, and causing his mother and I to say Novena’s until he got there.

The boy who wrote me a poem for my birthday.

The boy who helped me with my CV so that I could get into college.

The boy who wandered.

The boy who is never lost.

The boy who…

That’s him.

Our son Jake.

We are bursting with pride.

Now and always.

Toodles,

Paul