A Start

I don't know how to describe my Daddy
Forty-seven when I was born
A plasterer who retired because of a heart attack

He was from Ireland
He met my mother when repairing her house
From a bomb blast
He was seventh of eight children
And had five children of his own
I was the youngest
He died aged sixty-one from a stroke.

These are facts, but they are not him

He was the man who taught the sons
Of Speranza and Sons construction
Everything he knew about plastering.
At the pub, he would persuade the man who
Drank too much to quit drinking.
He was the man who bought a house
In dreadful condition
And made it a home in three years
Working nights and weekends


He was the man who worked eight months
Each year then lived frugally for the other four
Who still sent all five children to
Catholic School with its paid tuition.
He saved me from drowning.
He laughed when my sister
Bleached her brown hair.
He listened to his brother rant
Nodded seriously, with a tiny quirk
At one side of his lips.
Everyone liked Bill,
Even when he spoke at the
Hibernian Hall, quietly
Correcting fellow Irishmen
On the history they were arguing about.
They would listen, since Bill was usually quiet
And had studied Irish history.

I still can't describe my Daddy
But maybe this is a start.


Note: Hibernian Hall was the building/meeting place of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, or A.O.H. It was a group for the Irish and their descendants. My father was a member.