Transfixus Sed Non Mortuus

Here I Stand, Pierced and Transfixed

Browsing Posts tagged family

A Father’s Love

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The other day, I was riding my bike down Packard. The sun was squinting through some big puffy clouds and the weather was fairly mild for the winter. There wasn’t a spot of snow on the ground, so I was riding gently along admiring all the things I passed.

As I was coming up on one particular parking lot, I noticed a very tall thin man in a black coat and hooded sweatshirt. He was facing partly away from me and I took note of him because his back was arched over while he walked. It looked very strange to me. However, as I drew nearer to him, I realized that in his left hand was a small toddler’s hand. The toddler had on a fluffy pink coat that made her look like a little pink marshmallow. He was bent over so that this girl (who I assume was his daughter) could walk with him.

I was nearly past them when the little pink marshmallow pulled her daddy’s hand down nearly to the ground and she seemed to be concentrating on the ground in front of her. This big dude just went right along with it, and was as patient as a saint while she studied the ground with deep earnestness. I slowed my bike a bit to see what she was looking at.

She gently reached on the ground and picked up an old maple leaf. Then, she brought it close to her face as if she was taking in every detail. Very gently she motioned for her dad to take the cold wet leaf. She placed it in his hand and he brought her up to his face for a kiss. I kept riding.

That small moment in time made me think about a father’s love. The love that man had for his daughter radiated to me, a random passerby. It definitely looked like he was arching his back in a very painful way so that his daughter could walk alongside. I thought about how I might have caused my own dad pain in trying to walk upright in this life. But I also saw the love of his daughter. A leaf that might mean nothing to the rest of the world suddenly had a lot of meaning for that dad because it was a gift from his daughter. I thought about what gifts I might have given my own dad that might not have much meaning outside of his and my little world. These things kept me thinking about a father’s love in general.

A father’s love has to be malleable, durable, and strong. A father’s love has to be gentle, patient, and kind as well. I think that I don’t always know how best to show love, but a father’s love always shows the best and brightest.

Making Bread

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The other day, a friend and I were discussing bread and how it’s a deeply comforting type of food. It reminds me of my mom baking bread.

I seem to remember warm summer days where the light poured brightly and wide into the dining room. That is where my mom would measure out the flour into the sifter. She would gently tap a butter knife over the measuring cup and then scrape the knife over the cup to ensure that it was a level measure. Then, she would dump it in the sifter. If none of my siblings were around, I would be able to take the flour sifter and sift the flour into the seemingly gigantic white bowl. I loved the sound of the sifter as I turned the handle and watch the snow-flour fall.

I would watch as my mom would add all the ingredients and prepare the active dry yeast. She would heat some water until it was “just right” and then dump a packet of the yeast in. After stirring a bit, she would add the yeast to the dry mixture, and mix it all up in the giant white bowl.

Then, we waited for the best part. She would put a towel over the yeast and set it on top of the gas stove (not turning any burners on). I would watch the towel sometimes, but I would usually tire of towel-watching. But lo, when I would come back, there would be a bulbous shape expanding under the bowl. At long last, the part I would wait for had arrived. It was time to punch the dough!

This was always my siblings and my favorite part of the bread-making process. We would karate chop the bread, or give it a right hook. Perhaps a left jab seemed more appropriate. Either way, it was fun to punch the gentle mixture. I always had a lot of fun with it.

Those were the days, my friend!

The Day I Ran Away

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I think that for the most part, I was pretty happy-go-lucky as a child. I loved to be a part of my family. However, I wasn’t that way all the time. Sometimes, normally loving siblings became my rivals. Sometimes, I felt that parents were being unfair. I think these things happen as we grow, and it certainly happened to me from time to time.

I don’t remember the exact reason, but I remember I once decided to run away from home. This moment is on the edge of my memory, and my guess is that I was either in kindergarten or first grade at the time (so probably between 5-7).

While some of the details are shaded from my memory, I do remember how I felt and thought. I told myself that I would go far, far away so that no one would ever find me again. That would sure teach them. They would be missing me by dinner, and oh, how they would look for me, but oh, how upset they would be that they couldn’t find me. I was completely indignant and angry at something…what it was, I cannot recall.

I packed up the only suitcase-like object I owned…a plaskool doctor kit, similar to the one here: https://secure.flickr.com/photos/cool_9_cool/3252552771/. I’m pretty sure that thing couldn’t have been more than ten inches long and about four inches wide. Yet, I remember thinking that I had everything I need (a la “The Jerk”) as I set off angrily out the back door.

I made it about one hundred feet in the back yard just next to the lilac bushes in my parents’ yard. One of my brothers ran up to me and stopped me. As he asked me what I was doing, I burst into tears. I told him I was running away. I spilled my guts to him about whatever was bothering me so much. I can’t even remember what he told me after that, but it seemed we talked for a long time right there at the edge of the lilacs. Needless to say, he talked me out of running away.

I remember feeling really foolish afterward, but I don’t think my brother nor I ever talked about it again. I think it helped us bond as brothers in the long run because I remember feeling a lot of gratitude for his help in keeping me from running away.

There have been times in my life since where I’ve really wanted to hide from it all and just “run away” from my life “for a while.” Yet, if I actually give it some thought, I realize that this life is an amazing ride, and one that I shouldn’t want to run away from, whether I’m in the midst of deep pain or highest happiness. If I keep those kind of thoughts in mind, I do have joy.


www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWEI8Y91dQ0

There’s no pulling the wool over her eyes:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWFfDyupGpQ

The Buddy Walk

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Yesterday, I was able to take part in the Ann Arbor version of the Buddy Walk, which is a one-mile walk to help support the DSST (Down Syndrome Support Team) in Ann Arbor. It was a great time because I was able to see quite a few members of my family, as they came out to support it.

I found out about the Buddy Walk through my brother Sam a few years ago, and his son Emanuel has Down Syndrome. I’ve done it for four or more years now, and every year, it is always a great time. I saw a couple of friends that I hadn’t seen in a while, including my friend Michelle and my other friend Dick. His friend Julie’s brother (whose name is Joe) has Down Syndrome, so they were out there to support him.

The day was a great day for a walk, and it was nice to just relax and have some fun times with family. Overall, it was a great time!

http://www.collegehumor.com/video/6583682/the-six-ways-youll-see-your-dad

This little girl and boy do a mighty tooth pull using a motorbike and a piece of string. Of course, their parents/chaperones decided to capture the event from a few different angles.

While the multiple angles make it feel a bit staged, it is still pretty cute to see the kid’s reaction. I remember doing similar things when I was a kid to get rid of my teeth.

This weekend was quite an excellent time for me.

First, I was able to go to my cousin Shelby’s wedding on Saturday. The mass itself was in the amazingly beautiful Holy Redeemer Church in Detroit (a few blocks off Michigan Ave). My mom, two sisters, and myself were able to bring the Walsh contingent. We arrived at Holy Redeemer quite early, so we hung out in the parking lot talking. A pack of three pit bulls sauntered by, and we got to talking about some of the wild dogs that must roam Detroit. We weren’t sure if these were wild or not, but we definitely didn’t want to take our chances on trying to catch them! They looked like they were on a mission as they went in single file across the parking lot to the dumpsters, and then moved on. It actually felt like a scene from a documentary about hyenas or something.

We went inside the church a while later, and looked around. I had been there many years ago, and it was nice to remember some of the lovely memories we had there. I had been there before heading off to the St. Patrick’s Day parades that the Walsh/Carey family always used to participate in. We had been there for some of the quinceaneras as well. I remember being taken aback by the sheer size of the church when I was a kid, and even on Saturday, I felt it was quite breathtaking.

After Mass, my family and I went to Fuddruckers because there was a three or four hour break between the Mass and the reception. We had a blast hanging out and talking. My mom parted ways with us after a few hours, so my two sisters and I hung out at the Hotel Fairlane (where the reception was to be).

While we were hanging out in one of the long ornate hallways, we saw an older couple come in. By his stride, looks, and the way he carried himself, I could tell the man was an Irish folk singer. They set up in the lobby where people were congregating before the dinner.

As he started playing, my one sister asked the other, “Isn’t that Charlie Taylor?” His voice sounded very much like him, but the other sister said, “I don’t think so.” I too remembered Charlie Taylor as a larger man with broad shoulders and belly. However, it turned out that we were mistaken. In fact, it was Charlie Taylor himself.

For those of you who don’t know, Charlie Taylor is an excellent Irish folk singer, and was a very good friend of my grandfather’s. He is classically trained in operatic singing, and has a lovely voice. My grandfather gave him his start at Walsh’s bar in Detroit many years ago.

When we found out it was him, we stood nearby for a while. When he sang “Danny Boy,” it immediately brought me back to some of the Irish funerals where he had sung that song while we were interring someone. A little later, I brought my two sisters over and we introduced ourselves to him when he finished a song. He seemed genuinely happy to see us, and said, “Oh, I remember you. Your grandfather and I had some great times!” We talked for a few minutes, and then let him get back to playing his set.

We talked to a few other interesting people, saw some relatives we hadn’t seen in years, and generally had a nice time waiting for the dining area to open.

When the dining area finally did open, we took our seats. At first, my two sisters and I were sitting all alone, but a couple who didn’t have any seats joined us named Andy and Corrine. They seemed like interesting enough folk. However, I was very excited when Charlie Taylor and his wife sat down with us!

Charlie and I talked about the Irish language and everyone soon joined in, laughing about the huge “difference” between pronunciation and they way words are spelled in Gaelic. Charlie talked about some of the moments in his life, and Andy asked about the Old Shillelagh. Charlie talked a bit about how he and another gentleman started it, though he was quick to tell us that he was the one who had come up with the name of the place.

Charlie told the girls the story of the exploding potbelly stove at Walsh’s Bar. I had heard this story before, but it was great to hear Charlie tell it. Basically a gentleman and friend of the Walshes (whose name I’ve forgotten) came in to Walsh’s Bar with a brown paper package of steaks and a few other groceries. When he wasn’t looking some practical jokers switched the steaks out of the package and replaced them with coal. However, they didn’t notice that there were two cans of soup at the bottom. As the gentleman got up to leave, they stole his brown paper package, and started tossing it around the room. They were all laughing and carrying on playing “monkey in the middle” until one clever prankster decided to throw it in the potbelly stove that heated the place. They all had a good laugh about it and explained to the gentleman that they had not actually thrown his groceries in the flame. He was greatly relieved, until a gigantic and resounding explosion rocked the whole scene. The soup cans had exploded from the extreme coal-fired heat. In fact, Charlie told me that the potbellied stove was ruined and had to be replaced.

Charlie gave us lots of other great stories and anecdotes about his life and his travels. Before I knew it, a few hours had passed. Charlie’s dinner didn’t agree with him, so he and his wife left. So, the girls and I went out on the dance floor for a while. We shook our booties and had a great time.

Before we knew it, it was much later than we had planned to stay and we said our farewells. We were able to take my cousin Margo home and talk to her for a little while longer, and then we headed back home.

I woke up the next morning very excited because it was the day of my “2011 Winter Sports Crawl.” I had been planning this event for a long time, and I was very excited. The idea behind a sports crawl is to have multiple games and sports throughout the day. In one way, it is sort of like the olympics, but the biggest difference is that its main idea is that it is a pick-up type game where anyone and everyone plays and is welcome.

We played kickball in the snow at first. We used a sled to make the “track” to roll the kickball. It was kind of fun because the kickball would sometimes jump out of the track at the last second, making the ball really hard to kick. We started out by just throwing it a few times while we waited for people to arrive, and then when we had enough for a team we played a few innings. I had a lot of fun with that!

Next, we played football in the snow. It was a lot of fun to just lay out and catch the ball. Andrew was on my team and was covering my other friend John, but John was super fast and was running some great routes. Andrew said for me to take over because John “has cleats, or at least that I’m going to tell myself.” We had a good laugh about that, but then I wasn’t laughing so much trying to keep up with John. I had a couple of good defensive plays, but that man is fast!

We then played “snow gauntlet” and “snow pie.” I had originally planned on ice skating, but no one really seemed to want to do it. So, we played the “snow pie” for a lot longer than originally planned.

When we had finished with all that, we took a break and went to dinner at my friend Robin’s house. We had pizza and pop and just hung around for a while.

Then, we went to Veteran’s Park and finished the sports crawl with some sledding. The hill was very fast and a bit icy. We decided to go to a smaller hill near the big one to avoid injury. Then, Adam and Andrew proceeded to ride a picnic table all the way down that hill! It was pretty impressive from where I stood.

A few of us went out to McDonald’s afterwards for some hot chocolate and socializing. Since, it was Sunday, we didn’t stay for too long, said our goodbyes and went on with the rest of our merry lives.

To sum up, this weekend was simply wonderful, and I am really grateful for the lovely times and memories. Even though my body took a bit of a beating and I’m still sore even now, I wouldn’t change any of it!

One Walsh Family Christmas

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I think I was about fourteen years of age that Christmas. The Christmas tree stood in the corner of my parents’ house, heavily laden with years and years of traditions and memories, from ornaments from my grandfather’s tree to cardboard cut-outs my littlest sister had just completed in school.

Most of us children had unwrapped our gifts, and were basking in that wonderful lazy feeling of coming down from the combination of Santa-high and the fact that our stomachs were full of fruit roll-ups and chocolate. On the “excitement” scale (from one to ten), we were at a healthy seven and that was slowly falling into a peaceful six.

My sister Rose and her husband Steve had just pulled in the driveway. Immediately, our excitement level went back up to a value of eight. We ran out to the car and welcomed Rose and Steve. I remember that the sun was shining that day, and I don’t recall much snow.

They brought a large bag inside the house, and we followed, excited to see them. After some cursory introductions, Steve and Rose told us that this year, times had been a little lean, and they didn’t have much to offer us in the way of gifts.

I remember that I felt a bit of sadness. In truth, there wasn’t a lot of “woe is me” in that sadness, even though I wasn’t getting a cool present from them. Instead, I felt sorry for my sister and brother who were trying hard to make ends meet. At that time, we Walshes understood hard times all too well.

Steve then opened the big bag he had brought in and reached all the way to the bottom. Gently, he pulled out some plastic wands about fourteen inches long and a quarter of an inch in diameter. They were made of clear plastic, and had little black and orange pieces of candy inside. On the top of every wand, there was a plastic toy ant, about three inches long. There was a suction cup on the bottom of the ant, and that was hollowed out so that it would stay on the plastic wand. Rose and Steve had probably got them from a clearance rack after Halloween.

Steve and Rose handed these wand-ants out to each of us one by one. Before we had all gotten our gift, (I think it was) Dan started using his wand-ant to playfully attack Joe’s wand-ant. As soon as I got mine, I attacked Rachel’s. Soon, all the children were engaged in an epic ant battle of exciting proportions. Across the room, the battle raged, while we were whooping, hollering, and laughing. I can’t remember whose it was, but one of the wands got bent into a ninety degree angle. We all laughed about it, and I think that person bent it back straight, held the wand at the break, and then joined the fray again! Our excitement meter went up to eleven!

I was so busy playing with my siblings, I hadn’t noticed Steve and Rose’s reactions. Apparently, their jaws were hanging out of their heads in sheer amazement, especially when they heard, “These are GREAT!”

After a few minutes more of this, they regained their composure, and the battle had begun to wane. I was making my ant walk up the boughs of the Christmas tree when I heard Steve tell us that it was supposed to be a joke. They had intended for us to be disappointed, so that they could reveal the true present, a new(ish) computer!

So, we followed them outside to their car, and lo, in the trunk sat a desktop computer and monitor, a Gateway 2000 4DX2-66. Before this, the family had had an old Tandy 1000SL, which could not even run Windows or any of the programs of the time. In contrast, this computer came with Windows 95 and Word 2.0!

We were all pretty excited about it, but in all honesty, I think we all had more fun with the ant-wands because we could all join in the fun. Only one or two people could sit at the computer at a time, and with six or seven kids still living at home, that made it challenging to use.

My sister Mary recently reminded me of that Christmas, and it made me appreciate the joy that I have for being a part of my family. I really like that memory because it shows off our “good side” as Walshes. My family isn’t perfect by any means. Heck, with that many people, there’s bound to be problems! Through it all, though, I have learned to love each member of my family uniquely and truly, and I am excited to see us through the years as we all grow and change.

That moment in Walsh history also reinforces truths of the heart for me, like the fact that money and family can never be compared, and that you can truly be happy and have fun, regardless of mean estate or circumstance. Those are lessons I hope I’ve really taken to heart, and I hope I’ll never forget them. I’m really grateful that I was taught truths like these, because knowing them seems to bring greater and greater joy in my life. Because of these things, I am very proud that I am a Walsh.