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Sunday, March 8, 2009

A tribute to those who came before me (or those who didn't)

It was only recently that I started a discussion with my mother about my ancestry. I forget how the topic came up, but being that I'm 25 now it's probably a conversation we should have had a long time ago.

"My side of the family," my mother said to me "arrived here from England." She told me how many generations ago it was. She told me one branch of my grandfathers family, when they arrived, decided to remove the "e" from their surname to disassociate themselves from the others. She told me about some of the struggles they faced along the way.

"Your fathers side, you should know better than anyone. We named you Scott as a tribute to your heritage. His side of the family came from Scotland"

Now, my dear sweet father, he is a man of few words. He is usually quite happy to let my mum do all the talking, and he will sit quietly in a corner and mind his own business. On this particular Saturday afternoon however, he couldn't resist the urge to speak up.

"My family came from Ireland" a voice from the corner of the room said.

Time paused for a moment, as my mother reflected on what was happening. You could see in her eyes, she was thinking about everything she had done to her eldest son.

She had taken away Pierce Brosnan and given me Sean Connery.

She had taken away Dublin and given me Edinburgh.

She had taken away potatoes and given me haggis.

My name, which my mother had intended as a tribute for those who came before me, is now her own private shame. She makes it her business to know her family's business, but in this instance she let herself down.

Now, every time my mother says my name, she'll die a little inside as she relives her grandest mistake.

And as for me, well a famous frog once said it's not easy being green, but it's damn near impossible when your mother and even your name which has become the cross you bear deny you your Irish blood.

PS If you want to check out my skills as a photographer using only a webcam, check out my friend Thrice's blog. Have a read while you're there too.


  1. Great post! they better give you a huge barrel of beer and a planctation of shamrocks!!!!!!! I loved this post, really, like I wish I had Irish blood, but no, I have Clark's blood and I don't even know where it belongs too :P
    Regarding the pics..you're a magician..one can hardly notice my beard and my fake teeth!

  2. awww...I agree with Krystal...poor mom! awww...

  3. I think this is funny.

    No potatoes suck!

  4. I'm with Stephanie on this one, I can't but to to laugh a bit at your mother's mistake. :) All in good fun!

    FYI: You've been blogrolled!

  5. Nilla- I'm not so big on beer but wouldn't mind the Shamrocks. And being a magician is easy when the magic does itself, and you just have to wear the silly hat and wave your wand.

    Krystal / ChinkyGirLMeL- I know. She tried so hard. Oh well, live and learn.

    Stephanie- I love potatoes. I've never tried haggis though, but I don't think I'd like it.

    OmegaRadium- Awesome! Thanks for the blogrolling!

  6. Oh dear. Your poor mother! You should try my momopoly man impersonation -- cheers people up every time : )

  7. And I forgto to mention that I popped over to see your pics. Nice!!

  8. :) This is great. Your poor mom!

  9. keep the good stuff rolling. you know you're one of the blogs i check up on EVERY DAY.

    [yes, i'm stalking you and it's fun!]

  10. Kathy B- I don't think I could pull off a good Monopoly man impersonation unforunately. Glad you enjoyed the pics.

    Jamie- Glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for stopping by!

    Badriyyah- Thank you for the awesome comment. It made me happy. And I'm stalking you too, so I guess we're wandering in circles.

  11. well, that'll it make it hard to square dance with you. anyhoo... i know i don't comment much... but it's only to refrain from looking too stalker-ish.
    i have to fight every urge to comment on every single post of yours.

  12. Well. She'll be okay. It's not her fault that your father choose to sit quietly in the corner letting her assume he was from Scotland instead of Ireland, he should learn to speak up more!! :)

    My mother forgets my name. Once she called for me, she first called me by my brothers name, the dogs name, the birds name, her sisters name and finally my name crossed her lips. At least your mother knows who you are!

    BTW - I too come from Irish blood. And English. And hillbilly. Damned if the Hillbilly didn't stick thicker then the rest. Phst. :)

    Off to check out Thrice!

  13. thaaaat made me laugh outloud (the girls running away)!


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