Rory Fitzgerald
Rory Fitzgerald gives thanks for the ‘happy chaos’ of family life
It was a perfect Christmas family scene: one child vomited all over the floor, as my wife juggled the baby in one hand while passing me the mop with the other, just as the third began wailing because his favourite teddy was now covered in sick. We had an unexpected Christmas guest this year: norovirus. Yet despite its depredations and those of sundry other viruses, a happy Christmas was had.
The first half of it was spent with my wife’s family in England. England is a strange land: it’s quite like Ireland except the trains run on time and, if you get sick, you don’t have to give the doctor any money. There are also a few extra televisual traditions on Christmas day, such as carols from Kings, and the Queen’s speech.
The children wore their Christmas-cracker paper crowns for the occasion of the speech but were most disappointed to discover that the queen was not, like them, appropriately attired: “Why doesn’t the Queen have a crown?” they asked.
Referencing the Christmas truce of 1914, her theme was reconciliation. She spoke of visiting Belfast’s Crumlin Road gaol in 2014, saying: “What was once a prison during the Troubles is now a place of hope and fresh purpose; a reminder of what is possible when people reach out to one another… For me, the life of Jesus Christ, the prince of peace, whose birth we celebrate today, is an inspiration and an anchor in my life. A role model of reconciliation and forgiveness, he stretched out his hands in love, acceptance and healing.”
Visit
Reciprocally, President Higgins’ Christmas address spoke warmly of his visit to the United Kingdom during 2014 as a manifestation of the “friendship between our two peoples” and their “mutual respect and shared commitments”.
As a family that, like so many, straddles the Irish Sea it is a fine thing at Christmas to see the ever-strengthening bonds of friendship between the nations of these islands.
Before long, it was time to head back to the other island. We thus gathered our pile of bags and kids on the local railway platform, ready to take the exciting train journey to Gatwick airport and thence an aeroplane back to Cork, the scene of my own childhood Christmases.
At school there, our teachers had often asked rhetorically: “If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do the same?” Well, apparently, they would, as nearly all my old Cork-based friends have now also taken the incautious leap into parenthood in recent years.
Where once Christmas meant catching up in warm pubs, nowadays old friends tend to be met mid-morning, as mewling offspring play about on the floor, while we try in vain to reminisce above the din. Late nights, nowadays, only happen when some virus decrees it.
Yet on those rare occasions when my wife and I cross paths, and find some quiet moment to take stock of our lives, we give thanks for this happy chaos.
On New Year’s Eve, just before midnight, we found ourselves in the quiet company of our new baby daughter. Looking at her beautiful little face, there’s no doubting the difference a year can make.
A whole new person can come into being in that time, to change all our lives and to bring us such happiness.
Just before midnight struck, we woke her older siblings to see their mischievous grandfather’s pyrotechnics. We wrapped the kids up and took them out into the cold for the countdown. As the fireworks shot upwards and exploded magically above my childhood home, we all went boldly into 2015, together.
