#3

arteries of ireland

♫ “Mother Pray For Me" - The Beths 

When I was a kid, my Dad drove me around the country to play golf tournaments. I got to see Cork and Ballinasloe. Loughrea. Wicklow. Bangor. Places that were new to me.

I was never on a football team that needed to travel more than 20kms. At 15 I remember hating my parents. That seems like a strong word. But for a 15-year-old it felt justified. Teenagers can rarely be friends with their parents. But trapped in a moving booth for 2, 3 and 4 hours at a time with my Dad; we talked. I think a lot of men communicate better when they are both looking the same direction.

As we drove, whatever grudge I was holding or test of patience that was fogging up Dad’s vision – would fade away. We were left with each other and the radio. I was unbearably bored. For a teen with an inability to sit still in class and an active imagination, the Irish countryside seemed so bland and challenging. I would make up games as to pass the time. I would close my eyes and fool myself into warping time. I would avoid looking at the clock. But like the peace and conversation that washed over me and Dad, the countryside seeped into me.

-

I drive a lot for work. I feel lucky to do that.

When I am on a long drive, or a short one, the sun flickers through hedges and under tall trees. Lighting up the inside of the car. And it seeps into me again. That same feeling. Nostalgia? Maybe. But also, Oxygen. Grounded-ness. Warmth -    

-  and I’m home.