As you might imagine, it’s no accident that the protagonists of this meandering adventure story have taken on the name of a famous Irish clan, and particularly one Mick Collins, courageous Irish freedom fighter of the 1917 uprising and thereafter. (Though the royalists no doubt thought of him as a terrorist back in his day).Molly and Mick have been to that fair isle on several occasions, by ourselves and with girls in tow. It’s a lovely place to visit and reconnect to a shared past, though the weather can leave you a little sodden.
So yesterday, after we enjoyed our lusty morning “connection” here at the World Headquarters, we turned on the TV to the sight of our beloved (at least in this household) President, making his own homecoming, to that Island, connecting to the more remote but still meaningful roots connected to his Mother’s side of the family.
Of course, the glory of it all was that the Irish people, particularly in the small town that spruced itself up for his visit, were more than happy to overlook the complexion of our President’s skin, and accept the word of the genealogists who had uncovered the connection to a great grand grandfather. There was even a song about it, that came out during the 2008 campaign. Here's the link to "There's No One as Irish as Barack O'Bama."
Apparently there has been no equivalent of the Donald, demanding to see the documentary proof, and wondering if it had been photo-shopped.
When Mistress and I returned home from work, we planned a bike ride, but first, of course, there was some worship. Actually the second of the day, since Mistress had joined me for lunch, and her clean shaven folds had been a lovely appetizer for me.
Mistress laid back on the bed, munching a juicy plum, while I did my own munching, taking her over the top once, then, after a little rest and conversation, me resting my head against those lovely thighs, I enjoyed a second helping. Her bucking hips and muffled sighs suggested she enjoyed my hearty appetite as well.
After the juices settled, we both reached into our respective dressers to dig out T-shirts for our ride. As it turned out, we had both focused on the theme of the day. Our grumbling Sullen teen #1 was drafted to take this photo to share with you:
I just wish I had been there in that tiny town, to tip a pint with our latest Irish-American President.
5 comments:
Great post, Mick! I'm raising my cup of coffee in a toast too!
hugs,
aisha
This was particularly delicious given the story that, 8 years ago, the organizers of the Chicago St. Patrick's Day parade were less than welcoming when he wanted to march. Given my red hair, I probably would have been eagerly accepted, despite having not a drop of Irish blood on me. (Irish cum is a totally other story... I do have a thing for Irish men, red-haired or no.)
Cheers to the POTUS!
Been a busy week. Hope you didn't think I became "one of the missing" on or about Judgement Day!
I think it would never occur to Irish people to question the authenticity of Obama's Irishness. It's something that just doesn't surprise us: Everyone has a bit of Irish in them, and for those that don't, well things can be arranged :)
As for The Big Fella, as Michael Collins is known, yes some would see him as a terrorist, some as a freedom fighter. My grandfather fought alongside him, only to be later put in prison by him without trial. Them's the breaks. The concept of a clear Black or White is difficult in almost every context. Well done with the blog. Sláin agus beannacht.
Anonymous, you don't know how much we enjoyed your comments. Yes, there is very little black and white in Irish history. Mick
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