Almi and I celebrated our 27th wedding anniversary with a quick jaunt to Buffalo for dinner and a show. A priest friend of mine, Cathy Dempsey, of Church of the Good Shepherd in Buffalo suggested Bambino’s for our dinner, and we thoroughly enjoyed our meal.
For our entertainment, we headed over a couple of blocks from the restaurant to the Irish Classical Theatre Company, in residence at the Allen Theatre, for a production of the play DA by Hugh Leonard. DA was the first Irish play to win a Tony Award for Best Play (1978), and while we have seen countless productions of numerous plays and musical, neither Almi nor I had ever seen this play. It was a lovely treat, especially for a father’s day weekend.
The play is a memory play in which an Irish writer, Charlie Tynan, returns to his home in Dalkey, County Dublin, Ireland, for his stepfather’s funeral and to close up the family house, a meager and unassuming little place. He discovers that the house is not only visited by his boyhood friend and his business mentor, but also ghosts of his stepparents, old girlfriends, and others from the family past. Charlie comes to understand and accept his step father, “Da” (which is Irish slang for “Dad” or “Papa”), and also realizes that while gone, the spirit of his “Da” will always be with him.
I began to think about my own father, prompted by Leonard’s play. Ed Clerkin was a bit of a pain in the butt at times – headstrong, master of the house, set in his ways. He had a wonderfully playful sense of humor, more prone to pun and jokes than wit, and he loved to tell his favorite jokes over and over and over again. After his grandchildren were born, and he was given the nickname of “Poppy,” he called these quips, “Poppy-Jokes.” He even would give us fair warning – “I’ve got a Poppy-Joke for you!” which more often than not would trigger a rolling of the eyes or even a moan, neither of which would stop him from sharing.
Ed Clerkin could also be short tempered and implacable, even to the point of ignoring anything new in order to preserve what he understood to be the important past. He kept the household checkbook on top of the refrigerator, where our inquisitive minds wouldn’t find it and my mother’s limited height could not reach. He came home from work each and every day at 3:05 pm, slept in his recliner until 4:15 pm, washed his hands, and sat down to dinner at 4:30 pm. He could say the table blessing in less than five seconds, yet insisted that it be said at each and every meal. While he was a democrat, more because of his blue collar background in manufacturing industries where unions were necessary to negotiate fairness, he would be hard pressed to vote on party lines; he listened closely to each and every candidate and voted according to the person, not the mascot. He went to church every Sunday, and was quietly disappointed when his children did not accompany him.
He had a strength and obstinacy even in his final moments. Suffering from a coronary aneurism which ruptured during a shower, he insisted on dressing himself and even hoisting himself up onto the ambulance gurney before being taken from the house. He refused to succumb to his fatal condition in the presence of my mother and brother. On the way out of the door, my mother took him by the hand and said to him, “Everything will be all right.” He replied, “I hope so.” He didn’t pass until he was off the front porch of the house, out of my family’s presence.
Ed Clerkin was also capable, on rare occasions, of amazing transformation. At my ordination and many times following he received the Holy Eucharist from me and many other Episcopal clergy men and women (even though he was a devoted Roman Catholic throughout his life). He read the Bible with a sincere reverence, but was always happy to share a new interpretation or inspiration he had been shown. He was a lover of music and good entertainment, and while a great fan of John Wayne and the American westerns, he was also very accepting of the many songs, stories, and characters that his wonderfully creative children and grandchildren had invited him to enjoy.
This Father’s Day, I too am surrounded by ghosts – my father, my father-in-law, professors, teachers, performers, and friends – all of whom have parented me in one way or another. I celebrate the gifts that they have given me, and I hope that I had gifted them in some way as well. I give thanks for their lives and their love, and I treasure the fact that their spirits, in the communion of saints, continue to walk with us throughout our days.
Peace in Jesus Christ,
Shawn+
For our entertainment, we headed over a couple of blocks from the restaurant to the Irish Classical Theatre Company, in residence at the Allen Theatre, for a production of the play DA by Hugh Leonard. DA was the first Irish play to win a Tony Award for Best Play (1978), and while we have seen countless productions of numerous plays and musical, neither Almi nor I had ever seen this play. It was a lovely treat, especially for a father’s day weekend.
The play is a memory play in which an Irish writer, Charlie Tynan, returns to his home in Dalkey, County Dublin, Ireland, for his stepfather’s funeral and to close up the family house, a meager and unassuming little place. He discovers that the house is not only visited by his boyhood friend and his business mentor, but also ghosts of his stepparents, old girlfriends, and others from the family past. Charlie comes to understand and accept his step father, “Da” (which is Irish slang for “Dad” or “Papa”), and also realizes that while gone, the spirit of his “Da” will always be with him.
I began to think about my own father, prompted by Leonard’s play. Ed Clerkin was a bit of a pain in the butt at times – headstrong, master of the house, set in his ways. He had a wonderfully playful sense of humor, more prone to pun and jokes than wit, and he loved to tell his favorite jokes over and over and over again. After his grandchildren were born, and he was given the nickname of “Poppy,” he called these quips, “Poppy-Jokes.” He even would give us fair warning – “I’ve got a Poppy-Joke for you!” which more often than not would trigger a rolling of the eyes or even a moan, neither of which would stop him from sharing.
Ed Clerkin could also be short tempered and implacable, even to the point of ignoring anything new in order to preserve what he understood to be the important past. He kept the household checkbook on top of the refrigerator, where our inquisitive minds wouldn’t find it and my mother’s limited height could not reach. He came home from work each and every day at 3:05 pm, slept in his recliner until 4:15 pm, washed his hands, and sat down to dinner at 4:30 pm. He could say the table blessing in less than five seconds, yet insisted that it be said at each and every meal. While he was a democrat, more because of his blue collar background in manufacturing industries where unions were necessary to negotiate fairness, he would be hard pressed to vote on party lines; he listened closely to each and every candidate and voted according to the person, not the mascot. He went to church every Sunday, and was quietly disappointed when his children did not accompany him.
He had a strength and obstinacy even in his final moments. Suffering from a coronary aneurism which ruptured during a shower, he insisted on dressing himself and even hoisting himself up onto the ambulance gurney before being taken from the house. He refused to succumb to his fatal condition in the presence of my mother and brother. On the way out of the door, my mother took him by the hand and said to him, “Everything will be all right.” He replied, “I hope so.” He didn’t pass until he was off the front porch of the house, out of my family’s presence.
Ed Clerkin was also capable, on rare occasions, of amazing transformation. At my ordination and many times following he received the Holy Eucharist from me and many other Episcopal clergy men and women (even though he was a devoted Roman Catholic throughout his life). He read the Bible with a sincere reverence, but was always happy to share a new interpretation or inspiration he had been shown. He was a lover of music and good entertainment, and while a great fan of John Wayne and the American westerns, he was also very accepting of the many songs, stories, and characters that his wonderfully creative children and grandchildren had invited him to enjoy.
This Father’s Day, I too am surrounded by ghosts – my father, my father-in-law, professors, teachers, performers, and friends – all of whom have parented me in one way or another. I celebrate the gifts that they have given me, and I hope that I had gifted them in some way as well. I give thanks for their lives and their love, and I treasure the fact that their spirits, in the communion of saints, continue to walk with us throughout our days.
Peace in Jesus Christ,
Shawn+
