Love letters to our fathers: 'Thank you for all the sacrifices, lessons, laughs... and for the love'
Some of our guest writers and their dads - the subject of their love-letters
Dear Forodo or daddy,
Thank you. As I’ve gotten older I’ve learned that your greatest quality is how you have the ability to instil great self belief in your kids and to love us unconditionally. You have always been emotionally available and never fail to show up — whether that’s a visit, a call or a text ahead of a really important life or work moment.
My earliest memory of us was when I was four and I had a stage school performance at the Rupert Guinness Theatre. Life was busy — my little sister Fiona had just been born, we had just moved into a new house and I wasn’t sure if anyone was going to show up.
I continued to perform, anxiously looking in the crowd for a familiar face, then I saw the reflection of your clear rectangular glasses and my face lit up. We went on to have a takeaway, just the two of us, before going back into newborn baby chaos at home.
That was the first of our many daddy daughter dates and I look forward to these days so much because I can confide in you with no judgement and always receive the best life advice because Oh! What a life you’ve lived!
Thank you for all the sacrifices, lessons and laughs and most importantly for the love.
- Catch Katja Mia on the Six O’Clock show Monday to Friday on Virgin Media One.
Dear Dad,
It’s hard to believe you’ve been gone for eight years. Finn is 12 now — three years older than you were when you lost your own dad. Abbie is nearly 14 and Holly is turning 16 — the age you were when you had to emigrate from Tipperary to England to send money home. It seems to me that it is only time that teaches us about life and how we come to understand the sacrifices parents make for us.
Music is still as big a part of my life as it was when I dragged you and Mam out of bed to hear me play that simple tune on the piano when I was three. It’s thanks to you that, in our house, playing music was as natural as learning to speak. Your grandchildren are playing now, and your impeccable sense of rhythm has been passed on to them, you’ll be proud to know.
Your love of hurling also runs through our veins. Do you remember us playing outside the house on the road? I called you ‘Dad’ but you called me ‘Whacky Doyle’ after your hurling hero John Doyle — and I believed you when you said I was just as good. Shots had to be accurate or the sliotar disappeared into nettles and briars on one side or through one of the windows of the house on the other, which meant another trip to Macroom to buy a 6’x 4’ pane of glass.
Although Father’s Day is coming up soon, really it’s the same as every other day I think of you. I see you in my children, I hear you in my music, and I know how you would advise me when I’m not quite sure how to go forward.
You’re in every tool I pick up to make or fix something because they once were yours and you taught me how to use them. Your old ride-on mower is still starting first pick, and like most things, the old ones are the best.
- Jim Murray will be running a series of guitar workshops and master classes this coming autumn. Further details can be found on jimmurraymusic.com. His new album Odyssey with Tara Breen and Padraig Rynne will be released this summer. Details and tour dates at breenrynnemurray.com.
Dear Dad,
Granny always said ‘don’t tell your personals’ and I know you adopted that mantra — so writing you a letter in a national newspaper is going to make you squirm. You’re not big on verbose displays of affection — ‘love you da’ usually gets a curt ‘right so’ or (if you’re really feeling affectionate) ‘yeah’.
My central motivation for writing this is to drive you a bit mad — because, in the Grimes household, taking the p*ss out of each other is our strongest love language. But also, a few months ago, you went and nearly died on us. It made me realise that I should probably let you know how forever grateful I am for all your grumbling acts of love.
For the endless lifts, the multitude of vegan meals made despite your passionate love of a rasher, all the songs sung, all the bedtime stories told (notably The Hobbit with different voices for every character), the battles-of-will with us as kids to get us to practise our instruments when our priority was watching The Simpsons, and for your bravery in the face of adversity — namely surviving the shocking number of ‘bad pints’ you were served on nights of wild trad sessions in Mayo in the early 2000s. I now realise that it was an issue of quantity, not quality!
By being defiantly yourself, you showed me how to ‘feck the begrudgers’ and be defiantly myself too.
You taught me to value humour and generosity, and that for every moment in life there’s probably a song worth singing or music worth listening to.
I hope this has suitably mortified you, but also secretly delighted you too.
- Clarinettist and presenter Jessie Grimes has just been announced as an Artist-in-Residence with the National Concert Hall. Jessie will present the NCH’s mainstage family concerts and will help shape the Learning & Participation programme at the NCH.
Dear Dad,
Next year, it will be 30 years since I spoke to you. Every year since has seen difficult moments — the absent seat at my graduation, walking me up the aisle, meeting your grandchildren.
To quote Patrick Kavanagh, ‘every old man I see reminds me of my father’. Except, it’s not old men. It’s men in their 40s, with dark sideburns, a corporation tan and a smile that lights up a room.
I could dwell on the sadness of your death and on how much I miss you, or even the many flaws you had and the times you weren’t a great dad. But that’s not what I like to think about. I like to think about what you gave me.
In the 16 short years I knew you, you taught me guitar and how to harmonise. You instilled in me a love of film. You introduced me to fishing, cycling and many games of cards. We walked the length of Dublin and you told me its history. You gave me your habit of laughing uproariously at terrible jokes.
You had no sons and maybe that contributed to you making me feel that I was an equal to any man. There hasn’t been a moment in my career where I’ve doubted my ability or let myself feel less. And you did that while also teaching me to keep my bar high for partners. I’ll always remember you telling my 15-year-old boyfriend that gentlemen walk on the outside of the pavement. You have to watch those wayward motorists climbing the path!
Your gift to me was confidence. No mean feat considering the challenges you faced in your own life. Now, I try to live the fullest life for both of us. Your influence is in every book and script I write, every piano piece I play, every bad joke I tell your grandkids. I hope that makes you proud, wherever you are.
- Jo Spain’s latest novel The Trial is published by Quercus in Trade Paperback, €15.99. Available from all good bookshops now.
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