I used
etceteras in the title above instead of my usual ellipses because someone
recently commented that the overuse of ellipses and dashes in my writing is
irritating and shows a rambling mind. I pointed to The Master’s - Henry James -
extreme use of the comma to the modern reader, which showed someone who never
seemed to get to the bloody point.
A lively
debate ensued.
I digress.
It’s my
blog I can digress if I want to. Nobody is obliged to read.
Son#1 aka #TheChosenOne
starts a new job next week. This effectively means he has to fill in a
veritable shitload of forms verifying he is who he says he is. He’s a bit like one
of his parents – a very lively mind that generally cuts through the bull to the
nub of a question. But the most fundamental and basic question of one's life is
causing him awful bother. That is - WHAT IS YOIUR NAME. Unfortunately his
parents failed him rather badly at the start of his life by registering his
name at birth as James then immediately called him Seamus. Failed at first
breath. The poor bugger.
This James
was naturally Gaelicised then shortened and lengthened as he grew to Seamus,
Seamai, Seamashin (Donegal diminutive- fada yerself) Shem and Shemo. When he
was six weeks old I took him to Bun Ghlas on Sliabh Liag in Donegal, lifted him
skywards saying ‘Kunta Kinte’. Universe knows what effect had on his already
confused psyche. When he developed his own life outside the home he evolved
into Shay. All his friends including his girlfriend and her family call him
Shay. I have been known to occasionally refer to him as Shay myself. Shay is an
entirely different beast to my little Seamai – although he’s rather nice. I
blame the parents.
This
confusion over nomenclature is not entirely of my making. My father is a James referred
to as Seamus until he came to Dublin as
a Garda where he became James or Jim. For thirty years in work he was Jim
Welsh. At home, Seamus Walsh. His youngest son was called Seamus, on the birth
certificate, baptismal cert, and all official documents – the same mistake was
not to be made. This child was going to know who he was. He was widely known at
home, with family, and on the road as Seamai. Then he started school and like his
two older brothers became Wally.
In my late
twenties I met a James called Jim and fell for him. Not realising he was called
Seamus at home in Donegal – you can see where this is going.
That was
fine. By the time I met him he’d been out of Donegal for twenty years and
answered to Jim so it wasn’t a problem. Then we had a son. I repeated the naming
error mainly because I was a people
pleaser and wanted nobody hurt. I also thought (foolishly) that he could decide
himself when he grew up what he wanted to be called. I had him christened for the
same reason – he can choose himself, immediately burdening him with the fact I
rejected Satan without asking him if he wanted Satan rejected. I also guessed
he’d have to go to school at some stage and as there wasn’t much educational
choice in Ireland in the Nineties it
made sense. Church and State are still not fully separated when it comes to
education.
So I called him Seamus, registered him as
James, christened him as James then went on with all the nicknames a Seamus has
barring Shay – I didn’t really like that diminutive (sorry Shay!) He’s in my
phone as SeamaiMySeamai. That’ll do for me.
One
Christmas there were four Jim/Seamus/Seamais around my table. That was it.
No-one else bar me. I was pregnant with a Liam at the time but he didn’t answer
when I said ‘Seamus, pass the salt’. Neither did the rest of them. There was
quite probably was some obscure play being relived from some GAA match played
somewhere rural at some time since 1955. The priorities around the table in my
home when the Seamuses are gathered are ancient and tribal. Despite me having
NO clue. I’m generally happy to chew the cud and talk to the childer. Unless
there is a reader at the table. Then the childer can talk to themselves.
Back to the
James/Seamus/Seamai/Shay who is trying desperately to explain Hiberno English
to an outsourced HR department. The whole thing has brought on the young man’s
eczema – isn’t it awful the way anxiety can bring out a reaction on your skin?
That’s my fault too - but material for another waffle entirely.
So. The
child turned man has now vowed to call himself James on every official document
from here on in and to become James in work etcetera. When I ring and look for
SeamaiMySeamai the whole place is going to go into a tailspin. It was only when
I worked in payroll in the early Eighties that I realised how many people were
entirely different people when it came to official names. I wonder is this a
peculiarly Irish thing? Although no – it’s not. Russian diminutives and the way
Asian and Indian family names can differ from official ones is also endlessly
confusing. I bet the whole thing goes back to colonialism. It causes fierce upset
in these global times when your parent company could be Australian yet their human
resources can be outsourced to an Indonesian company whose first language is
not necessarily business English and definitely not Hiberno English. So the
name Seamus has been banned as being passed on any further in our family.
I have a
great grandfather, a father, a brother, a husband and a son Seamus. I also have
a grandfather, uncle, brother and son Liam. Then there is my brother Ken – the only
reason he’s not a Thomas, Tommy or Tom is that when he was born my mother
had a father, brother and brother in law Thomas, Tommy and Tom; she was told
there were too many Toms in the family. She called him Kenneth as being the
nearest to her maiden name Kennedy – not knowing that her father would have
loved a grandchild named Tom for him.
Poor Ken –
growing up knowing you’ve been called the wrong name can cause confusion in you.
I then had the temerity to call my two lads Seamus and Liam – leaving Ken out.
Our Kenneth is an original anyway – no imitation or imitators.
And nobody
ever mixed him up with a father, brother or son.
Except when
he was a Wally.
