said I’m sorry, Da,” Sean repeated uncomfortably.
Jimmy got up slowly from his seat. He offered Sean his hand.
“Okay, son,” he said. “We’ll let it go for tonight.”
Sean took his father’s hand.
“I am sorry, Da,” he repeated.
“Dead on, Sean,” Jimmy forgave him. “Let it go. I was a bit under pressure myself.”
The tension between them was broken.
“We’ll have to stop fighting, son.”
“I know, Da. I’m going to go on out. Is that all right?”
“No problem. By the way, son,” Jimmy was teasing, “what was wrong with you? Is your love life not going right?”
Sean had turned to go. With his hand on the doorknob he paused and looked back at Jimmy.
“No, da. My love life’s dead on. I’m just going through phase two.”
Does He Take Sugar?
Tom MacAuley, youngest son of Martha and Joe MacAuley, was nineteen years old. Joe worked in the office of a Derry shirt factory and he, Martha and Tom lived not far from the Strand Road.
Tom, who had Down’s syndrome, had been born ten years after his four brothers and three sisters, and when they had all left home to get married or to seek work abroad, Tom had remained to become the centre of his parents’ lives. Already in her late forties when Tom had been born, Martha’s health was starting to fail by the time he had reached his teens. But when he wasn’t at school Tom rarely left his mother’s side.
“Poor Mrs MacAuley,” the neighbours would say when she and young Tom passed by. “She never gets a minute to herself. That young Tom is a handful, God look to him. Morning, noon and night he’s always with his mother. She never gets a break.”
Tom attended a special school, and when he was sixteen, the year his father retired from the shirt factory, he graduated to a special project at a day centre on Northland Road. A bus collected him each morning at the corner and brought him back each evening. His father escorted him to the bus and was there again in the evening faithfully awaiting his return.
Tom loved the day centre. He called it work and it was work of a sort; each week he was paid £3.52 for framing pictures. He also had many new friends and was constantly falling in and outof love with a number of girls who worked with him. Geraldine was his special favourite, but he was forced to admire her from afar; she never gave any indication that she was even aware of his existence. His relationships with the others never really flourished, but at least with them he wasn’t as invisible as he was with Geraldine. He could enjoy their company, and one of them, Margaret Begley, wasn’t a bit backward about letting him know that she had a crush on him. Tom gave her no encouragement: his heart was with Geraldine. Anyway, he was too shy for Margaret’s extrovert ways.
Tom’s parents knew nothing of all his feelings towards the girls, but they knew that the work was good for him. At times he would return home excited or annoyed by something which had occurred at the day centre, and when this happened Martha knew the instant she saw him. When he was excited, perhaps from having had a trip to the pictures or when his supervisor praised his work in front of everyone, he radiated happiness. When he was annoyed, he stammered furiously.
On these occasions he rarely volunteered information, and Martha and Joe soon learned that it was useless to question him. Under interrogation he would remain stubbornly noncommittal and if pressed he became resentful and agitated. Left to his own devices, though, he would reveal, in his own time, usually by his own series of questions, the source of his discontent. Tom’s questions followed a pattern.
“MMMM Ma,” he would say, “DDD Does Mick Mick Mickey BBBBradley know how how how to dddddrive a cacaacar?”
“No, son, Mickey wouldn’t be allowed to drive a car.”
“Hhhhehe says he cacacan.”
“He’s keeping you going, Tom.”
“If we had a cacacar could I drdrdrive it?”
“Of
Jimmy got up slowly from his seat. He offered Sean his hand.
“Okay, son,” he said. “We’ll let it go for tonight.”
Sean took his father’s hand.
“I am sorry, Da,” he repeated.
“Dead on, Sean,” Jimmy forgave him. “Let it go. I was a bit under pressure myself.”
The tension between them was broken.
“We’ll have to stop fighting, son.”
“I know, Da. I’m going to go on out. Is that all right?”
“No problem. By the way, son,” Jimmy was teasing, “what was wrong with you? Is your love life not going right?”
Sean had turned to go. With his hand on the doorknob he paused and looked back at Jimmy.
“No, da. My love life’s dead on. I’m just going through phase two.”
Does He Take Sugar?
Tom MacAuley, youngest son of Martha and Joe MacAuley, was nineteen years old. Joe worked in the office of a Derry shirt factory and he, Martha and Tom lived not far from the Strand Road.
Tom, who had Down’s syndrome, had been born ten years after his four brothers and three sisters, and when they had all left home to get married or to seek work abroad, Tom had remained to become the centre of his parents’ lives. Already in her late forties when Tom had been born, Martha’s health was starting to fail by the time he had reached his teens. But when he wasn’t at school Tom rarely left his mother’s side.
“Poor Mrs MacAuley,” the neighbours would say when she and young Tom passed by. “She never gets a minute to herself. That young Tom is a handful, God look to him. Morning, noon and night he’s always with his mother. She never gets a break.”
Tom attended a special school, and when he was sixteen, the year his father retired from the shirt factory, he graduated to a special project at a day centre on Northland Road. A bus collected him each morning at the corner and brought him back each evening. His father escorted him to the bus and was there again in the evening faithfully awaiting his return.
Tom loved the day centre. He called it work and it was work of a sort; each week he was paid £3.52 for framing pictures. He also had many new friends and was constantly falling in and outof love with a number of girls who worked with him. Geraldine was his special favourite, but he was forced to admire her from afar; she never gave any indication that she was even aware of his existence. His relationships with the others never really flourished, but at least with them he wasn’t as invisible as he was with Geraldine. He could enjoy their company, and one of them, Margaret Begley, wasn’t a bit backward about letting him know that she had a crush on him. Tom gave her no encouragement: his heart was with Geraldine. Anyway, he was too shy for Margaret’s extrovert ways.
Tom’s parents knew nothing of all his feelings towards the girls, but they knew that the work was good for him. At times he would return home excited or annoyed by something which had occurred at the day centre, and when this happened Martha knew the instant she saw him. When he was excited, perhaps from having had a trip to the pictures or when his supervisor praised his work in front of everyone, he radiated happiness. When he was annoyed, he stammered furiously.
On these occasions he rarely volunteered information, and Martha and Joe soon learned that it was useless to question him. Under interrogation he would remain stubbornly noncommittal and if pressed he became resentful and agitated. Left to his own devices, though, he would reveal, in his own time, usually by his own series of questions, the source of his discontent. Tom’s questions followed a pattern.
“MMMM Ma,” he would say, “DDD Does Mick Mick Mickey BBBBradley know how how how to dddddrive a cacaacar?”
“No, son, Mickey wouldn’t be allowed to drive a car.”
“Hhhhehe says he cacacan.”
“He’s keeping you going, Tom.”
“If we had a cacacar could I drdrdrive it?”
“Of
Similar Books
