Triggers To Reaction

My son Frank and I had breakfast at Cora's on Sunday. His twenty-eight wedding anniversary was the day before. Seemed like the wedding happened the day before.We agreed how short a year is and fleeting the days.

Too fast and too precious to waste.

On Monday, I found my thoughts cast back further. Television reported an item about the name of a new Irish pub. It triggered a reaction..

"Durrty Nell" was the name. No doubt intended to amuse. Like"Ugly Betty" for comedy T.V.

I did not see the humour. I thought about why...... am I out-of-step ?

I heard another objectionable comment after Becker ended at 11.30 p.m.

Five guys in a circle in the Casino Rama Grill Room talking about sports. The topic was Montreal's loss to Pittsburgh.

One said:

"I hate Montreal. I'm waiting for them to die like the dogs they are"

Why do people use language that way? All day I had pondered my negative reaction to the name of a new Toronto pub.

"Durrty Nell"

Being in good part Irish, it's obviously insulting to my heritage..

But that wasn't it.

I went to sleep with the thought in my head. Why do certain words always trigger the same reaction

In the morning, I knew why.

In my class in primary school was a boy named Paddy McCart. His mother was a familiar figure.

Maggie was often to be seen. Short, lank dark hair close to her head, arms clasped across her body, to keep warmth in and cold out. She had no coat, wore little more than a cheap thin cotton over-all. No stockings . Her feet in cheap "sand shoes" seemed barely to touch the ground as she hurried everywhere emitting a constant low moaning sound...almost like a whimper.

Paddy was one of the boys in the back row. He was dirty as were his clothes. I don't remember bad behaviour. More likely he wasn't learning.

Paddy was frequently called to front of class. The nun would hold him at arm's length and beat him across his chapped and filthy legs with a long heavy leather strap wrapped around her hand for greater hitting strength.

He was regularly made to stand facing into a corner. Sometimes kneel for a long time on the hard floor facing the class.

Paddy McCart was not the only boy in that condition subjected to that treatment.

Then there were others. Mark Pieroni and John McAtamany. They sat in front seats. Mark was left-handed and had to learn to be right-handed. John needed extra attention. They were nice boys. Hair always brushed and shining and they wore suits and neat knee high socks of best quality.Their shoes were never down-at-heel and always polished to a high shine.

Mark's parents owned a billiard room with a hall above where parish dances were held.He was the youngest in a family of boys.

John's family owned a tavern on the High Street. One sister,May, played organ in the church .
Vera, the second sister was a soloist in the choir.John was the youngest and only son.

They catered weddings and every year, breakfast after First Holy Communion was held in a room at the back with a cobbled stone floor and long trestle tables with snow-white tablecloths. As we left, each child received a bag of goodies and a penny. I remember the sun streaming into the room on that special day.

Years later, my mother filled in details about Paddy's father. Sober, he was not in his right mind.Mostly he was blind drunk.

There was brutality in the home.

For Paddy, there was brutality in school as well.

There was no compassion anywhere for the nine year old and others like him.

But a powerful aversion to cruelty and injustice grew in the heart of another nine year old.

Decades later, I still have a visceral reaction to names like "Durrty Nell" and "Ugly Betty"

I've never told anyone that story before.

It's not for polite company.

Thank you for reading it.

Now you know my dirty little secret. It's what makes me run and occasionally causes my rage to run over.

Don't mess with me.