This is what I do now

I did a favour for a company during the week. It wasn't a company I've ever had dealings with previously other than reading their weekly newsletter, but I completed a survey and at the end spotted an issue that I emailed them about. They replied almost immediately saying thanks and asking for my address to send me "something nice". I told them it was no bother, that I was glad to help and the long and short of it was the girl behind the email address sent me "a nice photo", as above.

So I thought I'd share that. It made me laugh but it also made me think that something I haven't done in quite a while is blog about things like that. I used to. I used to blog about what it is I do, and between doing all the things I do and and trying what I try, I just never have the time to sit down and update this blog.

So I'm going to try and do that at least once a day from now on. I'm also going to try keep it to the things I do or am involved in, rather than just what I like, funny stuff from the interwebs or letting people know about things. Because I'm doing that over on Culch.ie, over on Boards.ie, over on my Tumblr (which is really just a bookmarking facility for me) and keeping photos up to date on Pix.ie.

While the break from obsessive posting (here at least) has been good, it hasn't really kept people up to date with what I've been at or who with, so I wanted to let you know a bit of that too.

Work

I'm working full time (still) as a Community Manager with Boards.ie - one of the two. The last six month with the site have been challenging, and I'm glad to have taken the opportunity, not only to work in such a solid team as I do, but to help drive the site in some small way.

There are some big developments happening with Boards.ie to bring it kicking and screaming to the starting line of online discussion in Ireland. There's quite a ways to go yet, but some of the contacts I've made are proving most useful and receptive.

Play

Well, counting "play" as the stuff I'm not paid a salary to do, I guess I've been doing a lot of playing recently.

Some of the groups I've been involved with over the last while include Temple Bar Cultural Trust and Culture Night 2009, RTÉ Performing Groups, The National Concert Hall, The Darklight Festival, St Patricks' Festival, The ABSOLUT FRINGE Festival, the LIVESTRONG Global Cancer Summit, The Guinness 250 Celebrations, WHPR, Kate Bowe PR, COnway Communications, The Abbey Theatre, The International Puppet Festival, Good Seed PR, Edelman, The Carlsberg Comedy Carnival, Entertainment Architects, The Science Gallery, The Street Performance World Championships and Emergent Events; The Cinemagic Festival; The Dublin Playhouse project and more.

I've been busy and it's been fun.

Health:

My health's not bad at all. Still a lot of pain and some fatigue but I'm getting through it.

The other stuff:

Well, sure if I start talking about that now, I'd have nothing else to say in the weeks and months ahead, would I?

Talk to you tomorrow :)

Boards.ie appoint new community managers

Boards.ie is the largest community website in Ireland with nearly 200,000 members and 1.35 million unique visitors per month. Boards.ie is ten years old this year - having started out as a Quake gamers forum - and is now one of Ireland's largest websites. In September 2008 they had over 1.7 million unique visitors. (ABC Electronic Audit Figures)

From their job advertisement in December 2008:

Every day thousands of Irish people come onto boards.ie to read content, to voice their opinion, to place ads, to interact with their friends, to buy items, to blog, to chat, to engage with other of similar niche interests etc.

We are recruiting our first full-time community manager to make sure that all these daily activities happen smoothly and that members are satisfied with the service.

We are looking for logical thinkers with the ability to facilitate community discussion with fairness and impartiality. This is a unique opportunity to work with the most fantastic web community in Ireland.

What are we looking for?

• Expert experience in working in a online community environment
• A mature, level headed, pragmatic person
• Expert communications and facilitation skills
• A Boards.ie member would be the icing on the cake

Yesterday evening it was announced that the position had been filled. Tom Murphy, co-founder of Boards.ie announced the appointment to the board's senior moderators and moderators in a frank but positive post. He explained the origin of the role and his personal thoughts on what the appointment could mean for the site:

We've finished the process of hiring our Community Manager position which has been a long and unexpectedly difficult road. We had a flood of CV's for the position of Community Manager and our understanding of what we wanted changed... As we got into the process we realised we wanted the Swiss Army Knife of employees. The list of requirements was laughably long and impossible to find in a single person...

... the ComMans primary modus operandi will be the exception handling. Supporting the Smods/Mods with official feedback on the tricky stuff when requested. Also to work on the stuff we all want to see, the aspirational stuff, the stuff we'll just never get done because we are focused on fixing day to day problems. It's time we started looking at the month to month things too. The things that we all want to see but aren’t screaming, on fire or trying to sue us.

They are here to strengthen that chain of communication and and provide a certain guaranteed level of official response. They will operate outside the normal run of the mill which is working very well up to and including the SMods. Their job will be more a "special circumstances" response team.

In a move previously unconsidered to the Boards.ie team, they decided to take the original position and divide it between two people - one, a respected member of Boards who has been there for ten years and is known by many in his capacity of Senior Moderator and social event organiser.

The appointment of Davitt Waldron (Dav) is both an acknowledgement of the wealth of experience and depth of knowledge he has, plus a sign to both mods and Smods who do the job voluntarily that the Boards.ie team is committed to supporting their roles and making their work easier.

The other person - a fresh eye on Boards.ie with a primary objective to ask and understand why things are done the way they are and to see if processes can be changed, improved or tightened to the benefit of all involved is me. Woo! :)

WHODUZHETHINKHEIZDEN?

Before applying for the role in early January and during the interview process I'd been giving a lot of thought to why I felt I should apply. While many of the requirements did apply to me

What type of a person are you?

• You really enjoy helping others achieve their aims
• You are not quick to judge but are steadfast in your ethics and fairness
• You understand that everyone is different and their opinion is exactly that

the thought of being answerable to an active community - one I wasn't a member of - of over 55,000 members weekly, never mind the management team was somewhat daunting.

In fairness though I do have considerable online community management experience, beginning in 1999 with Unison.ie, continuing through over three years with Pigsback.com in Ireland and the UK and on to Casino.com in Spain and then to advising NoNonsense.ie.

Add to this the personal-community aspect of maintaining a blog, the editing and brand guardianship with roles at Vodafone Live! and Barretstown and even the Customer Service and process configuration aspects of UCI, Xtra-vision and subsequent roles, I'd imagine all this experience gives me, as I said in a previous post, a fairly unique skillset to apply to such a role.

While I'm joining an established site and community, the actual company structure is quite compact. Dav and I as community managers will be working with Ross as lead developer, Tom and the other founders as advisors with technical staff joining as well. This actually gives us scope to expand our roles as necessary without the limitation of existing legacy practices taking precedence.

It's a role I'm looking forward to starting. Though I've only met Dav and Tom the once so far, their enthusiasm, passion and commitment to boards bodes well while their willingness to take seriously into consideration my questions, suggestions and based-on-intuition-more-than-boards-experience is an indication of how much potential there could be to ensure our roles reach their maximum effect.

It's funny - I went from forums to blogs and now back to forums. It almost certainly means I won't be blogging as much, but the possible content, ideas and conversations prompted and provoked by this new-to-me community is also a treasure trove I look forward to exploring.

Reaction from the moderators has been extremely enthusing so far. While questions have been asked as to what we'll be doing, the overwhelming sense is one of "Cool, let's see what will happen." Something I'm looking forward to finding out too.

Keeping old text messages

Every time I get a text message these days, I have to erase the one I've gotten before. From a phone with a capacity for 200 texts, I have 197 messages dating from November 4, 2005 to January 21 of 2009.

Am I the only one who does this?

Anyone who spends time with me will tell you I'm a divil for distraction, needing to do a couple of things as well as try, often in vain, to focus on what I should be doing. I think that's why I twitter so much at events - my mind refuses to be idle. I've tried to get out of the routine of checking the phone compulsively - unless I'm waiting for a call or text - but it's become such a habit for me that I predictive text without looking and will, very rudely, just interrupt conversations at times to check my phone, reply to a text, check the email or take a call. I'm trying to stop but as with any habit-breaking initiative, it's taking time.


Photo by Grannymar

Words are important to me. Far more than photos or dates, words about a time in my life, a specific event, a personal feeling, a connection with someone evoke a glad, almost visceral feeling within that I revel in. The first time I read a particular book, the first time I hear certain lyrics, the congratulatory email for a job well done, the first time someone says they love you. All these and so much more are important and if I had been any good a diarist through my life, I'd have been able to keep track of them. For now though, I only have texts. Emails disappear into the vast recesses of Gmail, stumbled upon usually, looking for something else.

I scroll through my phone occasionally, ordinarily on the bus, both to find a particular text or to see what's there. Don't worry, I haven't got all the 'Meteor would like to offer you' texts, the impersonal 'Happy Christmas to all my phonebook' texts or the redundant 'grand, see you there' texts. They're deleted if and when they're replied to.

I gave up keeping negative, abusive or pointless angry texts a long time ago - I don't see the point. Mid a failed attempt at reconciliation last year, someone told me they had "kept all the emails and texts as a record", which means that they're carrying around useless words that exoke a negative reaction every time they read them. I fail to see how it would help. Erase, remember, learn, move on.

My texts are either positive or funny or from a really good experience. Ranging from the very first, romantic:

I love you! I'm so happy we're together! Xxx 04/11/2005 07:19:05

to the thoughtful (I was living in London at the time):

Ul b happy to bear that theres a big crowd arnd Pat Ingoldsby's new book launch on d path. His sign says 'Join my book club and pay double for everything'... 18/11/2005 15:35:06

To the gratifying

Darragh thank you so much for all your help. The night was a great success. Your help was invaluable. Helen.
03/12/2006 11:18:54

To the first text messages

Hi Darragh, Niamh here. How's ur evening going?
13/02/2007 19:31:37

To the random

Is have to o wake up in two hours and i have a drunk girl on me arm so going to mobil u naill email you tomorow is that ok? 17/05/2007 01:20:49

To the inappropriate but funny forwards

I went 2c the nurse for my annual health check this mornin She said, "I think u should stop masturbating" I asked, "why?" She said, "Because I'm trying to examine u" 28/06/2007 18:01:53

To the confessions

I never told you but when you first moved to London, and we met at Dun Laoighre, I sat on the pier bawling listening to fix you bu coldplay. Watching the ferry. 26/07/2007 21:13:59

To the zeitgest

Spiderpig, spiderpig, does whatever a Spiderpig can. Can he hang from a web? No he can't 'Cause he's a pig
28/07/2007 21:36:05

To the "you'd really have to have been there"

Sleeping in jeep 04/08/2007 02:55:44

To the hard to believe but true

House closed at 3.30 today. Your bags are about to be given to security as UNCLAIMED. You need to pick them up in the next 15 mins or they will be destroyed. PLEASE COLLECT NOW 17/12/2007 15:57:48

To the utterly sentimental

Never say ur happy when ur sad, never say ur fine when ur not ok, never say u feel good when u feel bad and never say ur alone when you've got me 13/03/2008 22:33:46

To the self fulfilling prophecy

You and I need to have that couple of pints a bit more often. 19/03/2008 18:46:40

To the ah brilliant!

I have news anne just agreed to marry me were engaged 26/04/2008 14:33:37

To the spotted

That u on failte towers? 09/08/2008 22:21:32

And even in my sent items, the five I keep portray a rather poignant, if somewhat random and personal insight into my mind or the focus on the recipient at the time of sending:

The road to my hell is paved with my good intentions.

"How can your life be satisfied with small realities if your heart has big dreams? Read the quote and thought of you.

I love you. first instinct impressions are always right. x x

But, while you sit there either laughing at my attachment issues, shaking your head in despair at my disclosure, in disbelief at the shameless expression and with pity for someone who keeps such texts, let me tell you - it used to be a lot worse.

A whole lot worse.



I used to write them down.

Yes indeed, pre 2007 and the phones that came with bigger memory capacity, when I didn't know the current posse of amigos I'm blessed with, I would spend time faithfully transcribing, as above, all the texts into notebooks. The front for to-do lists and all that, the back for the text messages. They were mostly - if not all - from the girlfriend at the time. You know, something to show the grandkids when we got older? 'Look kids, here's when your Gran and I went on a date and she said it was good'. 'Look here, it's when we arranged to meet outside of Trinity one day she'd finished college early'. Honestly, it's acutely embarrassing to look back at how naive I was.



I went through one the other day. I always wondered if it would make the basis for a good book. Seems not. I cringed at some of the memories. But, the blog needs feeding and I thought someone, somewhere just may keep their text messages, may like the thought that at some stage in a day, someone thought enough about them to tap words into the phone and that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't such a

*beep beep*

Hang on. There's a text on my phone.

Coming out to my mother - my story

I tell this story better in person. It evolves too with each telling, words changing, inflection and intonation differing, depending on the audience. The Kilkenny accent plays an important role, as does the knowledge of the listener of my mother in "real life" - particularly how challenging a serious conversation with her can be with her constant interruptions, as well intentioned as they may be.

I've tended to tell it over dinner or a pint to someone or people it's come up in conversation with, or who out and out ask. I've hesitated about sharing it online before now, doubtful I could do the full extent of the effect and reaction justice. However, tonight I read Stephen, Russell, Scott and Ben who have all posted their coming out stories, their difficulties and challenges in sharing who they are with loved ones, so I'll give it a go and take this opportunity to tell you mine.



It's the year 1999. I'm almost 21, I've lived in Dublin now for almost two years. I'm home for the first time in a few weeks, my studies in the seminary providing a demanding schedule. Easter is next weekend and the evening before I'd been talking to my younger sister on the phone, who had told me things my mother had been telling our relatives. Andrea knows I value my privacy, knows the way things spread around our small village and, I guess, she wants to stir trouble as well, so she gives me a run through of overheard conversations and things people have said to her. She doesn't like it - I'm embarrassing her again. After a restless night of thinking and rehearsing, I took the first bus and arrived home a day early, telling my mother we needed to talk.

I'd changed a lot that year. My experiences in Kimmage were nothing but positive - I was studying in UCD, cycling out every day giving me that necessary exercise boost. The contemplative, spiritual side of my life had helped me get to know myself a lot better, to focus on my thoughts and deal with them maturely, while the social aspect of dealing with parishioners and fellow seminarians boosted my self confidence and taught me a lot about interacting with people. Teasie's little boy was growing up fast.

Dropping my bags in the hallway, I can hear the TV blasting from the kitchen. I didn't have a mobile then so had no way of telling the folks what time I'd be home. I preferred it this way almost, the thoughts of laid out tables, cups of tae and chatter about stuff we'd already discussed on the phone far from my mind. "She's been saying things about you, Darragh" Andrea had said, "She's been telling them why you don't like girls and stuff." I think I'd almost have preferred not to know.

Growing up I went to all boys schools so never had much interaction with girls. I've written about this previously, but it's worth pointing out that UCD was a huge surprise for me, it providing a bewildering amount of girls who - I couldn't really understand - seemed to like being with guys and each other. This was different.

The girls I'd encountered at home and on the school bus were bitches, pure and simple. They took every delight in tormenting each other and any one on the bus that they chose to pick on, gender irrelevant. I was a constant target, being quiet and not bothered to react. I left for Dublin with certain apprehension that they'd be the same everywhere - just out for themselves, with no concern for anyone's feelings. At least, that's how I perceived it.

I pushed open the door. My father was on the chair, watching a GAA match on the television while my mother was playing patience at the table down at the sliding door, the light being perfect for her eyesight. They didn't notice me for a second, so I said a casual "Well hello there" before sitting opposite my mother. We'd only spoken the night before so there was little catching up to do.

"Mam" I said, when the journey questions were answered, "Can we talk about something? I think we need to talk."

She looked up at me. I was expecting the look, what my sister had told me still in my head, but the sudden change in her face emphasised how important this suddenly was to her. Her eyes softened, she took off her glasses and smiled and said "Of course son, what do you want to tell me?"

"Well, look, it's important we talk about something. It'll only take a few minutes but I want to tell you it now."

It was as if I was reading next week's lotto numbers to her. She had anticipated this, I could see it in her face. The smile got wider. On the couch, my father stayed intent on the match, not a flicker of interest apparent.

"John" she said, "Come over here. Darragh wants to tell us something. Make him a cup of tea there John and come over"

"It's okay Dad", I said, "Stay where you are. I'll talk to mam."

"Are you sure Darragh?" she said. "Do you not want your father here as well? John, would you ever turn down that telly and make him a cup of tea, for feck sake. Come over here."

My mother is a formidable woman at the best of times. You'd really have to hear the accent to understand how forceful her words can be. Many's the guest in our house have had a cup of tea made for them, whether they want it or not.

"Look, it's grand", I said, "Watch your game. I'm all right for tea. I don't feel like tea, I just want to get this over with."

"Son, you know that we love you".

(If I ever do this on stage some time, I'm going to have violin music play at this point. Possibly 'O Danny Boy'.)

"You know that. We support you, we're very proud of you. You're a great son altogether, going off there to Dublin and doing what you want to do, it's great. We..."

"Yes, yes I know all that", I interrupt, as patiently as I can manage. "I just want to talk to you about this."

"Well you go on son, I'm listening. I'm here for you. JOHN! Will you turn down that telly? We're trying to talk here."

I took a deep breath. "Well, look. I've been away from here nearly two years now and I've been thinking a lot."

"You have son, and it's done you the world of good. Sure you were never happy here, it held you back. Not enough opportunities," she interrupted.

"Be that as it may", I said, "I'm enjoying the second year in UCD. I like what I'm doing and I love being in Kimmage"

"Sure aren't you doing God's work, son?" she said. "Isn't it what you want to do? You're very brave. I don't think you should be there now, but sure you're happy. And that's all we want, your father and me, you to be happy."

"Yeah, I know, but look. I want to tell you something. I want you to know this. I need you to know this."

"Go on, son, go on", she smiled, the words forming on her lips in anticipation.

"I know I never seemed interested in girls the way the other lads were when I was younger..."

"But sure weren't they all bitches to you boy? Jealous! That's what they all were, jealous. You'd be much better off without any of them from here..."

"... Yes, but look! I have a lot of friends in Dublin. Some are guys, some are girls, and I know I'm living with a group of men and I know I'm going to be celibate..."

"Yes, son, I do, go on". She's sitting in the chair like a jockey on a racehorse, ready to reach over and pounce with an almighty hug if tears began or when the words come.

"...But I want you to know something. It's important I'm honest with you. There's something about me that you don't seem to know, maybe I haven't been clear."

"We love you, son. Whoever you are and want to be, we'll love you anyways."

"Yeah, I know that!", I'm getting manic, trying to force the words out, hating how long something so simple, something I've come to terms with, thought about a lot, prayed about a lot and have accepted about myself after years of doubt and denial is taking. "But look, I'm just telling you now. I'm straight. There, I've said it. I like girls, I'm not gay and that's it."

"What did you say?" Her tone is incredulous, as if I've just announced I'm actually a small kangaroo named Skippy.

"I said, I'm not gay. Andrea's told me what you've been saying, told me you told people you were proud of me whether I was gay or not. Well, I'm not. I don't want a boyfriend, I don't want a girlfriend, but I'm not gay."

"But..."

"But nothing, that's it! That's who I am. I've thought enough about it to know."

"Well", she said, at once utterly deflated, her own self congratulation at being a modern mother and supporting her son's identity no matter what evaporating while her acute embarrassment at having gotten it so wrong rose like her blood pressure.

"Well...

If that's the way you want to live your life, you go and do so."

The vehemence in her tone was shockingly funny. I had to laugh. She gathered her cards and her spectacles, and without speaking to me, turned her back and walked out of the room, shoulders slumped with the burden of a disappointing child. Her dream had ended.

My father looked up. "Is everything okay?", he said. "What happened?"

"Ah, I told her I wasn't gay."

"Sure I've been telling her that all along. Don't mind her. Will you have a cup of tea?"

"I will" says I. "I think I will."

My mother didn't speak to me for the rest of that evening and didn't really forgive me for a month. "My son, the gay priest" was not going to be a part of her vocabulary for the rest of my life. We laugh about it now, but every so often she'll ask "So, any sign of a girl? Or a fella?" There hasn't been. A funny woman, my mother.

Not a word of a lie. I came out as straight to my mammy. I had to. She wouldn't have believed me otherwise.

An awful pain in the backside

Nope it's not a plug for Maxi's new award and nope, it's not a complaint about an Irish broadcaster/phone company/other blogger/state of the world :-P. It is however a post about me. I'm very very sore.



It's not something I've ever spent too much time thinking about, my bum. While I'm careful to protect my lower back and avoid strain as much as the next person, my posterior has just been there to sit on or get smacked occasionally followed by "Jaysis Doyle, you're so bony!" Its role in my general movement has never been something I've contemplated, all those hours studying anatomy in school wasted on me.

I won't be sitting on it today. Not for a while.



I spent an energy-less day in bed yesterday without the ability to do anything. Days like that are frustrating, knowing how much email was piling up, knowing of computer stuff I had to do, Christmas decorations to take down and things I wanted to do. My sleeping patterns are all over the place these days too which isn't helping. Come 11pm though and I'm feeling better, I get up, dress the bed, tidy the room a bit and bring the two half full mugs of coffee downstairs.

Big mistake.

Coming down the all wooden, no carpet stairs, mug in each hand, my legs gave way and I sat down. Heavily. On my sacrum.



In other words: I fell on my arse.

The crash was loud. The coffee flew everywhere. Clothes dripping, walls dripping, stairs sodden I immediately shouted in pain, stood up and ran for the bathroom. Don't ask me why, I think with the fright of it it was the first place that came to mind.

"Are you all right, Darragh?" was dad's first shout, him having gone to bed only a few minutes before. "What's wrong with you, son?" my mother wanted to know. They headed for the stairs, his bedroom upstairs, her's down. "What the hell happened?" they both wanted to know, no doubt looking at the devastation.

I couldn't talk. I was in agony. "I need painkillers", I said, "lots of painkillers." She brought them down to me and headed back to the kitchen. I took four.

I walked very stiffly back to where she was. I'm not sure if it was the pain of the fall or the embarrassment or knowing that my father was cleaning my mess on the stairs in his boxers that was worse. "What happened?" she asked again, "Are you okay?"

"I fell on the stairs," I say, winning first prize in the most obvious statement of 2009 award. "Did you hurt your back?" she wanted to know, "Do you want me to rub it?"

For a brief millisecond, for the time it took for my brain to process what my ears were hearing, the little boy in me, the one who had run to mammy with grazed knees, sore elbows, bruised forehead and ego, the one who believed she could kiss it better and that the Disney plasters really were magic almost said yes. Reality kicked in.

"It's, erm, not my back." She looked confused. "It's my bum. I fell on my bum."

I'm not sure which of us started laughing first. Loud, boisterous laughs, reactions to the fright of mere minutes before. Dad walked in "So what's wrong, then? Why are you walking like that?"

"He... he fell. On his arse." she managed to say amid the snorts. Though concerned, what else could she do? Dad had either less humour or was more tired. I was walking, talking and didn't seem to need a doctor. In his books I was fine and he headed back to bed. She fussed around me for the next few minutes, prescribing deep heat, a hot water bottle and sweet tea. She's great like that.

I tried to walk the pain out of it. I couldn't. I couldn't bend, I couldn't twist and there was no way I'd get back up stairs. In the end I just threw myself on the couch. Remember Del Boy falling? That was me.

I've passed the last few hours in considerable discomfort. Nothing's broken, I didn't damage my coccyx which I know from personal experience is a lot worse but I can barely move that part of me. Horizontal to vertical is almost impossible.

I fell going up stairs as well, just because I would, but once I got to me leaba, sleep soon came. I'm typing here this morning from my bed, every movement a reminder, every strain triggering pain. it's a bruised bottom and a bruised ego and even more bed time for me. Bummer.

All I can think of is this song:

All my younger sisters in the same room

We sat chatting about Christmas presents, about parents and about DVDs. Andrea has just finished work and called over, the younger girls were drinking coke and giggling at stories of me as a small child. I'm sitting with my four younger sisters. I met two of them for the first time today.

I'll always remember finding out I had other siblings. Growing up in a two child family as the eldest, I sometimes wished for an older brother or even a twin. For a time I almost convinced myself that maybe, somehow I was a twin - that's what too much Highway to Heaven will do for you. To go from two to finding out I was part of a much bigger tribe was pretty awesome, literally.

Mary Ann and I were sitting in the hotel in Roscrea where we were to have our first formal conversation. I'd got my rehearsed "I'd just like to say thanks for putting me up for adoption, it can't have been an easy thing to do but I ended up in a very loving family and I'm very happy and I wanted you to know that." speech out of the way, and once said, I couldn't find much else. I was struck by the physical similarities in our faces - family traits had always been a fascination of mine, simply because it wasn't something I could share in growing up.

When I finally braved the question of other children, she told me of her family. Married after I was born, she'd reared a good strong country family with her husband, out in the wilds of Offaly. Shyly she produced a scrap book of photos and invited me to have a look. "Here's your brother, John" she said, pointing to one strapping young chap, "And here's your other brothers there." The photos were stuck on with sellotape, taken apparently from family albums. It's part and parcel of the Advice on What To Do when Meeting your Adopted Child procedures. Bring some photos. Make them aware of the current situation. Tell them about yourself. Props always help.

Turning the page she pointed to three young girls by a church wall. "They", she said "are your sisters." Whatever about being told I had brothers, finding out I now had sisters was almost a bigger surprise. Brothers, you see, I'd expected. Hoped for in fact. But sisters? I'd already got one of those, and she'd caused me enough trouble, so I didn't think I'd be "lucky" enough to get any more, I type very diplomatically. But I looked at those photos, thinking that in a different Ireland these could very well have been the brothers and sisters I'd grown up with.


(Even at 5, Andrea was difficult to be around :-P)

It's not that Andrea and me didn't get on, as such. We loved each other and grew up very close as young children, but once distinct teenage personalities came to the fore, that was it. At the time I met Mary Ann, Andrea and I got on great, living over 100km from each other and seeing each other once every few months. Magic.

But more sisters I had. I met Maureen in January of 2004 and was enthralled. We'd never met, never known of each other a few months before, but blood beats distance and I saw we shared a lot of similar personality traits, reactions and even mannerisms. She was my first personal experience of sibling semblance and it was an overwhelmingly positive one.

There was no awkwardness between us, other than the natural one of people becoming friends. When introduced to other people, I was her brother - there was never any explanatory talks of family history. Me, I'd have complicated thing unnecessarily, as I'm wont to do, but she immediately accepted and acknowledged me, regardless of which house I'd grown up in. When talking together, we'd talk of our mother but my mam and her mam, the distinction doubtlessly confusing to anyone not familiar with the situation. When asked it took me a while to realise I had more than one younger sister.

I met the others in ones and twos, sometimes in Offaly, more times in Dublin. The biggest test came when I was invited to a family wedding, where I'd meet them all en masse. Anxiety struck before then, let me tell you, but I was welcomed as a family member, introduced as a brother and treated like a friend throughout - a far better experience to some of the adopted family weddings I'd been invited to.

We're never going to be the Waltons, the Ingalls or Camdens, nor do we want to be. It's the differences between us that make it interesting - I grew up in a rural-urban setting, they in a rural one. They blossomed outdoors on their farm, I recuperated indoors lost in books. They are strong men in physical work; I type. The affinity we share is in kinship. There's no semblance of posturing, no sense of superiority through legitimacy. While we're related, we're not really family, in the traditional sense of the word. It's almost deeper than that, a fraternal bond based on genealogy more than genetics. We enjoy seeing each other when we can, but don't force it. We just let things happen as they happen.

Fast forward almost five years to today, when I meet my two youngest siblings. Our paths just haven't crossed until now - they're a lot different to the two small girls I saw in a photo five years ago. Eileen is in fourth year of school, loving practical subjects like Home Economics but hating maths - a lot like me. Brigid is in second year, giggling shyly as she tells me her favourite subjects are Tech drawing and lunch time. We're nervous around each other, of course, me probably more so than they. I've fallen very much out of practise of meeting new people, of giving a good impression and this one is important to me.

Though I meet them on neutral ground, in a local café for coffee beforehand, I do want them to see the house I grew up in, to meet my parents, to show just how ordinary I am, how similar our childhoods have been in many ways. My folks - ever welcoming and supportive - have met Maureen before, but I introduce them now to Michael and the girls. Andrea arrives to meet them all for the first time - she hasn't met any of that side of the family yet. We talk about everything from GAA to Home and Away, from Harry Potter to mobile ringtones. Once I relax, I'm grand. It takes a while though.



At one stage mid conversation, I look at the four girls and realise I'm quite lucky to be the older brother of four rather lovely young women. Family, though it is what you make of it, is important and this Christmas has emphasised that for me in more ways than one. I didn't grow up with these girls, but they are my family, they are my sisters and now they're part of my life. It's not a case of adopted families, biological families, half brothers and sisters or any such terms. We're in each other's lives because we want to be.

We part ways later in the evening with hugs - they have a long drive ahead of them. I'm delighted it's gone so well. On my walk home I'm texted "It was lovely to meet you bro, you're very sound". Can't ask for better than that, eh?

That John is not my father

08.09.2008

Dear Darragh

I write to update you on my trace of your birth father. I wrote to Mr John ________ last week and received a telephone call from him today. John confirmed to me that he knew your mother and that she had a baby by him in 1978. He was not aware that you had been placed for adoption.

This week I was 'introduced'
To a man called John
He's my biological father
And I'm his only son

He knew that she was pregnant
But she gave birth alone
I was born to a single woman
His whereabouts unknown

That John is not my father
Despite the DNA
There's no basis for a relationship
There's not that much to say

I do not know his story
Of how I came to be
I do not know why he wasn't there
To be a dad to me

That John is not my father
In my personal estimation
To qualify you need to give
more than a sperm donation

His choice can't have been easy
It may have caused him grief
Or just as possibly walking away
Gave him enormous relief

That John is not my father
And though I wish him well
I wonder at his recklessness
Of putting my mother through hell

Had he ever thought of me
Wondered how my life had evolved
Wondered if he was part of the world
Around which my life revolved

Had he wondered if I wondered
How he came to his decision
Did he wonder if I'd accept it
Or treat it with derision

A man of 30 as he was
Maybe should have faced his obligation
For doing the deed of planting his seed
And creating the situation

That John is not my father
It's not just about genes
It's presence from birth to adulthood
And all the in-betweens

His health is fine, my main concern
And I'm sure he was shaken
To hear at all in such circumstance
About the path my life had taken

I wonder too if he was prepared
To take that call some day
Or to face the fact I may not care
And was happier that way

I don't want to disrupt his life
Or even remind him I exist
I'll just remain as I am now
An opportunity he missed.

That John is not my father
He chose not to stick about
And so I owe him thanks at least
for the way my life turned out

My adoptive parents are my folks
The ones who made me thrive
Genes are fine but love and time
are what I needed to survive

That John is not my father
I have one of my own,
My dad John is all I need(ed)
I'm proud to be his son

That John is not my father
This John is.



And I love that he's my dad.

08:08 08.08.08

Yep, I am *that* sad. Well, last year on July 7, I stuck a reminder in my phone that today I'd look back at what I was doing this time last year and see where I was.



I'd moved to Spain.



As opportunities go, the chance to move to a different country to work on what was promised to be an exciting project to add to my CV was a tempting one. Despite having spent the previous few months making new friends and getting back into the groove of living in Dublin having spent so long away, I was once again faced with the choice of go and give it a shot or stay and regret not going. I think I made the right choice.



The south of Spain in the summer sunshine is quite a stunning place. I'd moved to the tiny village of Pueblo Nuevo de Guadiaro, a short trip from Estepona, a few kilometers away from Gibraltar



and a short walk from the top-class resort of Sotogrande, home to millionaires, golfing enthusiasts, yachters and this view, one of my favourites.



It was to be a massive learning curve for me. I'd moved over alone with little idea of the locals, the language or the way of life. "I'll be grand when I get there" was my thought before going. "Sure it's Europe. They'll speak the language. Plus I'll be in an English speaking part". I'd been spoiled by having interviews in English, in flying to Gibraltar (little England in the sun) and by romantic notions that it was going to be easy.



I'd been apprehensive, yes. The night before I left, at his birthday last year, Darren had asked me "Are you sure you want to go?" and it wasn't until the plane touched down in Gibraltar on the afternoon of August 5 that I realised that I had to do this.



I was collected by the company driver to bring me to my new accommodation, a two bed apartment where I could stay rent free for the duration of my probationary period. Was I lucky? I felt blessed.



I soon became used to views of narrow streets, of vibrant flower colours and smells and to the sound of Spain - the second loudest country in the world, apparently. I also fell in love. With a rock. Gibraltar, with its views of Africa, its windy, tourist filled streets and most importantly its English bookstores became a regular destination for me, as I explored the rock, met its inhabitants and sat at pubs in the sunshine thinking how lucky I actually was.



In many ways it was a step into a different life. Things moved at a different pace, to a different beat. The sunshine ruled supreme. We went to a Bootleg Beatles concert where the announcement:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the management have informed us that many of you are using digital cameras and camcroders to record tonight's show without permission. We have to ask you to stop as it's the 1960s tonight and your devices haven't been invented yet".

Funny, but also appropriate in many ways. I didn't have internet access (which for a web addict editor is never a good thing), my belongings took ages to arrive and it took me a while to settle into this new place without friends, family or even the ability to ask for a carton of milk without struggling with the dictionary.

Mañana, mañana was the reason, the excuse and the driving force behind everything. If it didn't happen today, so what? The sun is shining, the water's great. Come on down to the beach. Watch the waves. Relax a little.



So that's what I did. One of my fondest memories is the lunchtime Elizabeth and I went for a walk on the beach, just to get our feet wet. Which sounds like a great idea. And was. because playing in the waves at lunchtime is always fun.



Sitting here this morning in D15 and looking out at the waves of traffic heading to the M50, hearing the sounds of this part of Dublin preparing for another day, I can't help but smile. It's been a good year. I'll do the same next September 9.

Where I'll be, what I'll be doing, whether I'll be in front of a keyboard or transmitting this directly to the interweb using the latest in mind-to-web technology, who knows? All I know is that I'll be doing my very best to enjoy it.

Where were you last year?

A little more about me(mes)

In advance of tonight's show, it would be remiss of me not to complete the Meme set to me by the wonderful B of Positive Boredom recently:

It's called Getting Your Goat and it, of course, has rules:

1. List two things that irritate you for a reason, and list the reason, and two things that irritate you for no apparent reason whatsoever
   
   
2. Give credit to the person who tagged you
   
   
3. Link your answers to the original blog - Keiron over on http://www.skillett.com must be delighted with the traffic :o)
   
   
4. Tag four new people to participate

So then: Things that irritate me for a reason:

I'll probably highlight just how petty I can be about certain things here but I trust you'll indulge me, especially in my first one: Apostrophes and misspellings on signs and posters.

Seriously, I know there's so many bloggers out there who share this, but recently I saw this picture over on Apostrophe Abuse (great blog!) and didn't believe it was true. I had to see for myself, so I did and guess what? It was :o( Major fail!



And in a coffee shop close by:



This one from Letterkenny is one of my favourites... of course maybe there is "Origional art" (top right) and I'm wrong...



and I've blogged this one before but it's worth it again:



and while I understand it's a local idiom or the vernacular or just the way they speak, this headstone, also from Letterkenny (outside a shop may I add) made me smile with the use of Yous:



Secondly it's people dropping litter. Especially parents who allow their children to drop rubbish on the streets and (a) not chastising/teaching the child and even worse (b) not picking it up! Holy need of a bin Batman. I don't think I can write more about this without venturing into rant territory.

Things that irritate me for no good reason:

Many people have commented on umbrellas, which I share, but also people popping balloons both freak me out and annoy me.



Don't get me wrong - balloons are lovely and fun and I don't run screaming at the sight of them. I just hate loud noises and the thought of these things popping near me? Not nice, not nice at all. Let them float or make the animals or whatever, but why burst it? It's not *that* funny.

I mean look at the faces of these delighted children at the Street Performance World Championships. Awww!



And the other one is seeing, and hating, the way I look in certain photos. I don't mean the ones I've posed for - I mean the ones that show a side of me that I'm not comfortable with.



The wonderful Davy MacDonald sent me this photo recently - and I just don't like it. Despite my posts about comfort with myself this is just a side of me that I'm neither familiar or comfortable with. And the fact that I don't like that annoys me even more.

I mean there are plenty of embarrassing photos of me out there where I've posed for them (and probably plenty more after tonight) but still. I'm sure there are people who feel the same. Do you?

Credit to the person who tagged me:

Well B'dum. This one is for you. I like your blog - I like the sporadic nature of your topics, your enthusiasm and your sheer talent in bringing out what interests you. You hop from personal interests to topical to bizzare with such ease. You also comment on so many blogs it's bewildering. I hope there's a category for great people like you at the next blog awards. I'll be nominating you.

(That's what they meant by credit, right? :o))

Finally it's tagging 4 new people to do this. It seems like this has spread right around the blogosphere. Look at some of the people who have participated since July 7:

• Grandad
• Lottie
• Andrew
• Little Miss
• English Mum
• Darren
• David Maybury
• K8 the Gr8
• Sam at Problemchildbride
• Kirk M at Just Thinkin
• Jefferson Davis
• Digital Darragh
• Marlys at Senior Writer

And they're only the ones I know about!

but there are new blogs (and commenters here) that I've found recently. So in lieu of Damien's own fluffy meme, I'm extending the invitation to them and hope they'll join in:

• Gav and Ciara - really loving your blog guys. Care to give this a go?
• Sinéad K - would love to see what you come up with.
• Batman fan Pedro - what gets your goat?
• Richie over at Fitzy's cloud - care to give it a go?
• Jen at Little Bird Eats - something different for your blog?
• Klara McDonnell - leave aside that guitar or script and give this a shot?
• Will Knott - I haven't seen this on your blog yet, sir. How about it?
  
• Marie - I know you've probably been tagged, but give it a go :)
• Nathalie - have you been tagged yet?
• Lyndar the merciless - be merciful for this one please ;o)
• Dardardrinks - can you leave the paving aside long enough to give it a go?
• Anthony - sure you might as well!
• Ben at Hairyfish - good man, for me, please?

Please feel free to add your own too!

Happy 31st Birthday Martyn

Hello there Martyn, I'm Darragh, a friend of your sister Mary.

I know it's weird of me to write to you, considering we've never spoken or met, but I'd like to wish you a Happy Birthday today.

I've been friends with your little sister for over a year now. In that time I've found her to be one of the sweetest, most caring people I've ever met. Though we're very different, her and I, we have a slightly strange connection that makes for a very strong friendship.

We've often talked about you. She's fond of all her brothers but you hold a special place in her heart, and I think that's why I'm writing to you now. She's often told me what a great guy you are, how you're the bestest brother anyone can have. You sound like someone I'd like to have a pint with.

Your sister has probably changed from the little girl you grew up with. The little girl who you were so protective of, who was your sister even though she was adopted and who once whacked you in the eye with a well thrown hairbrush causing your primary school teachers to believe you'd been in a fight, rather than sweet innocent Mary causing the damage. She still causes divilment the odd time :o).

I'm proud to know your sister. I know you'd be proud of her. She constantly surprises me with how she thinks with her heart and how she cares about people.

Yesterday she told us about you. We were discussing grief after death - a friend of ours is finding it difficult to come to terms with the death of her uncle eight days ago. She wondered if it was strange that she mourned his loss so much, even though he was 'just' her uncle. She needed good advice, support and empathy.

Your sister wrote her one of the most poignant, thoughtful things I have ever read online. It took my breath for a moment. She wrote it, Martyn, about your tragic death in a car accident 11 years ago.

You shouldn't have to bury your feelings, it would be my brother's 31st birthday tomorrow if he were still alive, he's dead just over 11 years and believe me it NEVER gets easier, yes you learn to deal with it and you don't break down as often, but it will ALWAYS be there and it will never fully go away.

I know I still miss my brother dreadfully and I always will and I do still have days where I sit and cry and cry and cry.

Your uncle wasn't 'just' your uncle, he was a person you obviously loved and thought a great deal of and you are therefore allowed to grieve for as long as you like.

There is no time frame for grieving, there's no such thing as, ok he's dead a week, a month, a year or whatever, now get over it and stop grieving, you will grieve for him for the rest of your life but it will be in a different way.

My nieces know all about my brother, even though they were all born years after he was killed, and any children I have will know about him and I'll always talk about him and remember him and have pictures of him around me.

I'm sorry I'll never have the chance to meet you, Martyn. You'd be proud of your sister, a beautiful woman who still loves you, still misses you and will celebrate your birthday today, remembering the brilliant big brother you were and the part of her life, her heart that you are and will always be.

Rest in peace, sir. Your sister is doing great, with friends that love her and will be thinking of you both, and your family, today.

The first time

I've woken up.

The room is dark, the pale light through the net curtains an indication of the early hour. I know I'm still tired but I know I won't go back to sleep. I'm nervous. This is it.

I choose my clothes for the day carefully. I don't want to appear too formal but not too scruffy either. I've brought enough clothes with me from Dublin to dress a hurling team. Sorting quietly through the bags so as not to wake Aoife asleep on the bed, I finally settle on black, one of those colours that always suited me.

I look at myself in the mirror. Actually I look at the photos around the mirror and how I've changed over the years. There's me at 3, at my communion, at school, on holidays, in church. All stages in my life I've got fond memories of.

Aoife rises and stands at my side, radiant despite just being up and dressed in one of my old school t-shirts. She's done this before, taken this journey, followed the process. She understands. She suggests a warm shower, not because I smell bad but because it will relax me and I need to relax. I'm nervous. This is it.

I groom as I've never groomed before despite having showered and shaved the night before. I study myself in the mirror. What does my appearance say about me? Who does it convey? Am I well represented by the effort I've put in. I note the lines, the scars, the creases in my face. I know I've been aged by illness, by stress, by life. Do I look strange? Bad? What shows?

My parents are up. The kettle is boiling as my dad calls up the stairs saying there's tae ready. I'm too nervous to eat, even to speak much. My mother is fussing with something. Aoife makes herself useful helping, pouring, slicing, collecting. Somehow it's all going on around me while I'm locked in thoughts of the past and the future. It's nearly time to go.

My mother comes over. A small woman, unsteady on her feet through a variety of health problems, I feel she still towers above me, all 5 ft 2 of her. She takes my hand and puts a small crucifix in it. "We've got you that" she says, "It will bring you luck." She grabs my neck to kiss my cheek. She knows my silence betrays the deeper emotion. I'm trying hard not to cry.

Dad gives me a hug. This simple country man from the wilds of south Kilkenny, a normally quiet, simple soul devoted to my mother and to making life as good as he can for his family clasps me close and says in a firm voice "When you were young we knew there was something about you. As you've grown I've seen it more. Blood isn't everything but you get your heart from her. And that's a mighty thing to have."

I catch Aoife's stare at me. She knows how close to cracking I must be. She's the first girl I've ever opened up to. The first girl I've loved. She claps her hand and says "Right so, we'll go." and soon we're in the small Opel Corsa ready to set off for Kilkenny.

I have to meet Elaine at 9. Elaine who I've only ever met twice before but today is as important as Aoife is. We've left in plenty of time but I'm still hoping dad will drive quicker. My mother makes conversation with Aoife while I once again rehearse the lines in my head.

I know what I want to say. I've practised it a million times. I've been rehearsing since I was 17, alone in my room, angry and frustrated after a row with my parents and realising "Hang on Darragh, you do know they're people too, right? And you know as tired as you may be with them that maybe you're not how they thought you'd be either?" That day changed my life.

We pull to the side of the road. The car has broken down. I kid you not. Of all the things to happen. I was going to be late for Elaine and of course I didn't have her mobile number. I laugh, simply because there's not much else I can do. I hope Elaine will wait. I've been waiting. Waiting a long time.

I was in the seminary when I first wrote to Waterford. It was a time of decision for me, a time of moving on, of me at 20 getting my life sorted. It was four years later before I received a call, just as I was boarding a flight from the offices of Quinn, Murphy and O' Brien. "Erm I'm going to Manchester" I said, "I've got a job there for a few weeks. I'll ring you when I'm back". I'd asked my mother to find out what it could be about but she only ever got an answering machine. I hadn't a clue why a solicitor's office would be ringing me. Who else could it be?

When I got back I called. "Ah Darragh" the friendly voice said "It's about your letter to Waterford. We were moving office and we found it behind a filing cabinet where it must have fell. Are you still interested in talking to us?" "Sorry, what letter?" "Oh, it's one dated October 1999". It's now August 2003.

I met Elaine at the Rivercourt in Kilkenny. It was a beautiful day, one in which the view of the castle was postcard perfect. We talked. Was I sure I wanted to know? Yes, I said. I'd thought about it. Had I talked to my parents? Yes, they've been supportive from the start. Are you angry? Angry? No. I don't think I have any negative emotions attached. I think I've dealt with that already. I know what I want to say, and that's simply...

The car starts. I breathe a huge sigh of relief as we trundle along windy roads to Kilkenny. "Ah probably just a dirty spark plug" says my dad as if looks at me in the rear view mirror. I smile, trying not to add to the stress. The closer we get the tenser I can see my parents becoming. It's a big day for them. They're nervous too.

It's five past nine when we pull into the car park. No Elaine. Uh oh I think, has she left? It's a Saturday, she's not supposed to be working. It's just before Christmas and she has small children and shopping to do. Maybe she's sick, maybe she won't do it, maybe she's - Aoife tells me to shut it, to relax. Maybe she's just late. And she is.

Her car pulls into the car park and she gets out and gives me a big hug. She has a brief chat with my parents, reassuring them, saying she'd be in touch and then with me in the passenger seat, Aoife in the back, we're off.

The questions start. What do you expect, Darragh? What are your thoughts? What do you hope will happen? All questions I've been thinking about, none I have answers to. So she tries simpler ones. Tell me about growing up. Tell me about your family. Tell me about finding out. Aoife rolls her eyes in the back, giggling as she knows the one thing I'll never be short of words about is myself.

It's destination Tullamore I'm told. That's where the meeting is. As we pull into the drive of the Tullamore Court hotel I can see it's a complete glass facade. I can see almost everyone in the lobby. People in business suits, in casual wear, tweed, plaid and wax jackets aplenty. I glance at my clothes. Would I fit in? Would I look alright? Do I look too conspicuous? Would I be mistaken for a waiter? Or a priest?

Elaine had stepped outside to make a call. I can't get through she says, I'll go in and see. She leaves Aoife and me in the car, but nosiness gets the best of us and we get out. Aoife grabs my hand and watches me scan the people inside. Is it her? Is it her? Who is Elaine talking to now? Is that her? I'm nervous. This is it.

Elaine comes out. "She's not there" she says. "Go in and have a cuppa while I find out where she is". I'll always remember how much my hand shook as I tried to lift a spoon of sugar to my cup. I was in a heap. Ah, sweet caffeine, how you'll help soothe the nerves.

Elaine returns. "She's not coming here. She couldn't get a lift. She's at home in Kinnity. It's a good 40 miles away".

I laugh out loud. I can't help it. It's been such a build up of letters, phone calls, meetings and then this morning. The crucifix I'm clutching is branding my palm. "It's out of my jurisdiction, Darragh, so I can't drive you... officially. I'm not covered. However if you want to go, we will..." There's no question at this stage. I almost sprint to the car.

Closer to Kinnitty, Elaine senses I've passed nervousness and am now out the other side. Terry Pratchett describes something similar in his Discworld books - being "knurd" - so sober you need a drink to make you normal. I feel exactly like that. I could do with a pint.

Kinnitty at 1 pm is almost a ghost town. Situated on crossroads in deep Offaly, I spot the obligatory small town standards of post office, church, shop, garda station and pub. And that seems to be it. Aoife gets out of the car. "Good luck" she says, "you'll be grand. It'll all be fine". I'm so nervous now I almost don't believe her. I don't know what to believe any more. I'm just waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

We drive up a narrow winding mountain road. Elaine's questions have dried up, limited now to seeing if I'm okay. We pass tiny cottages, farmers yards, laneways left and right. Ah, so this is where she's from. My mind is screaming "What have you got yourself into this time?"

"We should have been there now" she says, "I'm going to call her". She dials on speakerphone. I want to get out of the car but too late "Hello, hello" the voice comes, in a deep counthry accent strangely suited to the surroundings. Ah, so that's what she sounds like.

"Hello Mary Ann, it's Elaine again." "Oh hello Elaine. Where are you?" "Well we're on the road, we've just passed a big lumber yard on the left..."

"Oh you've gone the wrong way! You'd now have to turn yourself around and come back the road. Take a left at a big blue barn, continue up over a bridge and I'm just at a graveyard." I'm bemused to say the least. I had no expectations but wasn't expecting that.

We turn the car and hurtle along, sharing a laugh at all that had happened. She rings again. We describe where we are now. "Oh you were right the first time. Turn around and come back".

Ah now, c'mon. Seriously? I begin checking the car for hidden cameras, convinced this is a sequel to The Truman Show, awaiting Mike Murphy to appear telling me he's from RTÉ. I pinch myself to make sure I'm awake. Nothing would have surprised me.

We drive on and I'm lost in thoughts again when suddenly Elaine pulls over. What's up now? I think. She gets out of the car.

The back door opens.

It closes.

Suddenly sitting in the back seat is my mother. My biological mother. And this is how we've met for the 'first' time.

"Hello", I say

"Hello", she says.

She smiles at me. My mother smiles at me.