When I awoke in the middle of last night this saying was running through my head, and as I could not get it out of my mind, I got up and wrote it down and then continued to write this column. Funny how you can write some of the truest words in the silence of the night; I think it was Brendan Behan who once said, “write as if you are dead,” and in the dead of night is certainly the best time to do this.
Governments and religious leaders still do not seem to have the common sense to say, ‘sorry we got it wrong, lets try something different’. This is in a world where we have learnt that the definition of insanity is repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome.
I often wonder where we lost our common sense because we were certainly born with it. As a newborn we had enough of it to scream when we were hungry, go to sleep when we were tired, and cuddle up to something soft and warm when we were lonely, whether that be our mothers, our teddies, or even our blanket.
By the age of two we were trying to hold our own with all the rules and regulations so we screamed blue murder and threw tantrums every time we wanted to do something that was not the norm — they call it ‘the terrible twos’.
By the age of three we were worn down with all the crying and tantrums and had conformed to the norms of society. As we continued to develop we were told not to cry when it was all we wanted to do, eat up when we were not hungry, and do what you are told when we wanted to try something different.
Then we were sent to school (half a century ago ) where teachers had been taught that children learnt most when the cane was used to put the fear of God into them and to teach them manners.
The church supported these educated people and also believed that there were no consequences in beating and abusing children. As long as you knew your prayers, attended Mass, and told them your sins then you would be saved.
My father, who turns 93 this week, stood up and was counted in the sixties when he would not accept that his children should be being beaten in a school where he had sent them to be educated. He proceeded to fight the church on school regulations and then take four of his children to schools where beating may have also been legal but was not used to the same extent.
In 1972 I became a teenager (a year which left my parents with six children in their teens ). As we all know that year 14 people were shot dead on the streets of Derry in January (seven of them teenagers ). I wrote a poem which depicted this year for me:
1972
Adolescence beckoned with great expectations.
Innocence of Youth, expectations of the innocent.
365 days, 495 deaths later, it ended.
With the loss of that innocence, and the death of those expectations.
I too conformed and followed society’s rules and regulations and wondered why I was so unhappy; then I had a breakdown, or, was it a breakthrough? That was when I broke out and started to do what I wanted.
I know it sounds selfish but it is not — everyone wins in this situation. I then taught my children this lesson after I separated from my husband and realised to survive and thrive we all needed to go back to basic common sense— so, when either of my children had a headache I told them to lie down and have a rest. If they were lonely or hurt I told them to cry and when they needed comfort I hugged them. Simple, easy, and logical I thought, I then started to allow my children to do their own thing (within reason ) but taking full responsibility for the decisions they made.
By the age of 14 my son had broken every rule in the book and my heart in the process. One night when I could take no more I sat him down and said: “I am going to my bed to sleep and you Ja, are going to your room to pack your clothes, phone your father and tell him that you are now going to live with him.”
He put on his most charming smile and said, “You don’t mean it Mam.”
“Indeed I do,” I replied, “I have given you every opportunity to talk but you wouldn’t listen, you now have to deal with the consequences.”
So off to bed I went and slept the entire night for the first time in months.
When I awoke I checked his room, he was there fast asleep, the room shining and his clothes completely packed.
In the kitchen there was a note on the table that you could have played the violin to; it started – it is five o’clock in the morning and I have just finished packing, and so continued a long letter of apologies and threats (about never coming to visit me, and his father living next door! ) and then he signed it Love Ja.
When he arose hours later he asked if we could talk.
“No problem,” I replied and the two of us sat at the kitchen table.
“If you let me stay,” he said, “I will never step out of line again.”
“OK,” I said, “but remember Jarlath, we need to cross lines to grow but take care how far you cross the line, always consider other people and also remember to get respect you have to earn it.”
We continued to live together for another seven years, as two human beings who could talk to each other about anything even though we did not always agree. But with the love and respect that people reach when they are given and take the opportunity to talk, and are listened to.
Common sense would dictate that we need to talk about how things affected us, how they are still affecting us long after the events in question. We need to understand that we can still work these things out in ourselves if someone takes the time to listen, then move on to a better future. They say common sense is not that common anymore — I often wonder if it ever was.
If you want to talk to someone in confidence about anything troubling you, call Mary on 094 925 7467 to find a way forward. Check out www.marylynch.ie or www.renew-ireland.com
