The Catholic Church – storiesfromadam

Educated, but too late to matter…

‘I went to college to learn but I was educated in that house’.

She smiled as I spoke, knowing it was best to wait, rather than press for the detail. It’s not all that surprising that a man in his late fifties would have one or two skeletons still locked away. What was more surprising was that I had chosen to release them now, thirty years on.

‘That was the first place I lived in when I left home, not that I had to leave. There was no one pushing me out but I was 21 years old and according to my mother it was ‘high time’ I joined the human race. Joe, my one and only brother, just two years older than me, had already married a young blonde from the Falls Road and moved away. The pair of them began life in a beaten-up caravan which her father insisted remained where it was – in his driveway.’

‘I keep an eye on all my tenants’, he said. ‘You two are no different.’

Moving to a republican stronghold in Belfast during the troubles wasn’t exactly what you’d expect from a boy who grew up in Blackrock in the heart of south Dublin but then no one in my family could ever be regarded as unadventurous. My younger sister had gone too. She took the boat to Boston just before she began to show. We were told there was an uncle out there who needed help in a shop and ‘sure wouldn’t it be good for her to make her way in the world’. Ginny had only been in the world for 16 years and most of that time she spent trying to hide from my drunken father.

When I rang the bell it was Michael, an old school friend, who opened the door.

‘Eamon, is it really you? Come on in. Are you here to see the room?’

I felt the squeeze of excitement through his grip as we shook on it.

‘The box one at the front is yours if you want it’, he said, as he ushered me through.

‘It’ll be like being back in St Finbarr’s. Do you remember? Ms Tierney’s class. Jaysus Eamon, the two of us were like Batman and Robin.’

Batman and Robin, I thought, Mother of F….

‘Do you remember when I carved Cullen’s name under the lid of her desk?’
His eyes smiled up at me as he thought back.

‘It was Brother Tully who found it. Wasn’t it? Ms Tierney was out that day. When he lifted it up and saw Cullen’s and Ms Tierney’s name scrawled together inside a heart he flipped. The heart was your idea Eamon. Sheer bloody genius.’

Oh, I remembered all right. I didn’t feel like a bloody genius. Cullen, the poor bastard. The normally pale Tully was on fire that day. There was nothing Christian about this Brother. I remember how his eyes scanned the room with the intensity of the Kish Light and picked out the ignorant offender.

‘Come up here Cullen.’

‘I didn’t do it. It was Michael and Eamon. They did it.’

‘That was when he let fly’, Michael said. ‘What a wallop. Cullen went airborne. Lucky for him when he landed he stayed down and started bawling’.

‘It’s bad enough that you’ve the temerity to deface school property and humiliate your teacher but then you put the blame on two young innocents’.
Michael mimicked Tully standing over Cullen spitting with rage.

‘If this was ten years ago Cullen you would have felt the Leather on your backside. Now get out of my sight and tell your mother I want to see her here in the morning.’

‘Michael laughed’, I said, ‘I hated him for it, but still, I took the room. I hated home even more.’

She saw how I was, put her arm through mine and gently resting her head on my shoulder tugged at me to go, back down the road, away from the shame of it all.

‘The Cullen lad never lived down the humiliation’, I said, ‘If we were the annoying pigs in the sty he was the runt of the litter.’

‘Let’s go’, she said, ‘you’ve seen enough.’

A Bolt of Lightning

I expected fireworks this weekend but not drama. You didn’t only move the furniture about; you came through locked doors, smashed windows and walls, and practically levelled the house down the way. And yes, I got the message: no sex before marriage.

In my defence I did ask if you accepted condoms these days and there was no response. I text, sent several emails and even left you a message on that antiquated voice recorder of yours. I know time doesn’t have the same meaning for you but come on, that machine is like something Moses would have used. Whatever happened to the old ways? One word from you and Gabriel would have been here in an instant. Frankly I have to wonder whether you being ‘all knowing’ was ever the case. In truth there are seven billion of us down here now. How you honestly expect to manage all of us individually is beyond me. I had ten in my team last year and there were times when I’d tear my hair out just trying to deal with the day to day. Performance reviews were a nightmare.

Far be it from me to tell you what to do but I have to ask: do you ever delegate? Is that what this is all about? Or is it that you don’t want anyone bar you having a direct relationship so you set up a bunch of rules to try and limit our numbers? How did you ever think that would work? You must know it’s all we ever think about. Take Julie for instance. Before you started throwing all your weight around, making all that noise, flinging lightning bolts back and forth, me and Julie were getting on well. I was drowning in her eyes and every time I stroked her hair I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Fair enough, I accept that’s probably the wrong sort of metaphor to use in your company but that’s exactly my point. You put the two of us together, you get me all excited, I play my part and get her to come camping with me and just when sparks begin to fly you start behaving like a spoilt child. I wouldn’t have minded a little rumble in the distance or a flash of two on the horizon. That I could have coped with but as soon as you hit the derelict building at the end of the beach it was game over. I have to hand it to you, it was impressive and of course you knew exactly what would happen. What am I saying, of course you knew. When that last bolt hit I didn’t stand a chance. Your climax trumped anything on offer from me. Julie was up and running leaving me with nothing but a memory of what might have been. So look let me say it this way. If you have a plan just tell me.

You know that story about the two sets of footprints on the beach which turn into one and people think it’s because you left but of course you didn’t because you were carrying the other guy. Well I’m not looking to be carried but it would be nice if you could be a little clearer about where I’m headed. In the absence of a sign I’m taking it that you’re leaving it up to me and if that’s the case it would be wonderful if you could just let me get on with it. The way you’re acting right now anyone would think you want me to join the Seminary…ah Christ!

Adam’s No Saint!

Being called Adam can be a burden at times. By simply taking a bite out of an apple the original holder put a stain on all mankind and ruined the name for future generations. Although I must admit I do feel a certain sympathy for my namesake. After all, despite the idyllic surroundings, can anyone blame him for not wanting to upset the only woman on the planet?

The story of how I came to be called Adam has less to do with the Book of Genesis and more to do with the modern phenomenon where young couples name their offspring after well known personalities. Back in the late 50’s rock and roll was on the verge of becoming mainstream and my mother was infatuated with one of the upcoming stars in the music industry: Adam Faith. Family history doesn’t record what my father thought of the name but I suspect that even if he had disapproved he knew well that this was one battle he could never win. However, on the day of my baptism, the priest saw it differently.

Father Darcy from Ballinrobe and recently promoted to Parish Priest in a Dublin suburb, was traditional in both dress and character. He wore a cassock and collar, black horn rimmed glasses and a rustic appearance that left no one in any doubt of his rural upbringing. Like many clerics of his time he demanded respect for both the church and the law, canon law. Legend has it, at the very moment friends and family gathered around the baptismal font, he baulked at the suggestion that the child would be called Adam and flatly refused to proceed with the ceremony.

‘Adam’s no saint . It must be a saint’s name’, he said.

Years later I was told by a family friend that even my whimpering halted as the silence reverberated around the church and the congregation waited for my parents next move. All eyes turned towards my Mother. She ran the home, a growing family and managed any crisis going. She was small and tough and it was natural that she would answer, but she didn’t. By contrast Dad was quite shy and tall and thin, so much so that you’d wonder how he stood firm against your average breeze. Taking on the church was unimaginable and yet that’s exactly what he did.

‘The boy’s name is Adam’, he said.

This was pre Vatican II and long before the authority of the church was ever open for debate. In the late 50’s the banks, the politicians, the justice system and especially the church were the foundation on which the whole state was built. To dare to question was undeniably brave. Thankfully a voice from the wilderness saved the family from certain excommunication.

‘Give him a second name’, said the voice.

The suggestion seemed acceptable to both priest and parents providing, of course, it was a saint’s name. Being the land of saints and scholars one could be forgiven for thinking that finding a saints name shouldn’t be all that difficult. That’s where you’d be mistaken. Although I suspect Father Darcy could have reeled off any amount of names he refused to be drawn. In fairness, at this juncture, he was probably prepared to be damned than come to the aid of my parents. This was proving to be a problem because as the tension rose Mum and Dad could hardly remember their own names let alone chose a second one for me.

Again the mystery voice spoke up.

‘It’s St Benedict’s Day…call the child Benedict’

With that simple statement I was cursed for ever more. Had I been able to leg it out of there or even voice an objection I suspect I would. It’s kind of nice to be called Adam after a rock star but Benny, good Lord, how could they let that happen?