[James Joyce. Source: Google Search.]

Yes, I’m perfectly aware that the title I’ve chosen for this blog is the final sentence in the wondrous novel, Ulysses. Written by James Joyce (shown above) and considered one of the most seminal books of the 20th century. I am also aware that the quote is from Molly Bloom’s Soliloquy. And it relates to making nice nice, if you get my drift. (It’s probably one of the reasons the book was banned for a time.)

How does this tie in with Father’s Day, you may very well ask. I will offer this: Joyce had two children, Lucia (a dancer) and Giorgio. Both, it seems, suffered from emotional issues, which would have been a concern, as a father, to deal with. Back in those years, Ireland (and most other countries) lacked the modern sensibility and knowledge to provide the care and attention that is available today. But, I’m going to assume that a man of such gentle poetry and powerful prose, could be anything other than a great dad. Maybe I’m wrong.

I hope not.

The narrative of the novel takes place on one day, June 16, 1904. Leopold Bloom wanders the streets of Dublin. His descriptions are detailed, full of insight and imagery.

Here is a part of Dublin that he wandered:

[Dublin City. Map source: Google Search.]

I won’t give away spoilers. I won’t ruin the ending. Furthermore, I will say that every year on June 16, people all over the world, and especially Dublin, make the day with celebrations, readings and simply sharing their love for the author and the book that made history, of sorts.

Leopold Bloom did stop into a pub for a glass of Burgundy and a sandwich.

[Davy Byrne’s Pub, Dublin. Leopold Bloom stopped here for a glass of wine and a sandwich. Source: Google Search.]

So, all this talk about Ireland brings me back to my father. I went to an International Egan Clan Reunion with my dad in late 1984. It was held at the ancestral castle (Castle Redwood). He took me to a few pubs, we walked the streets of Galway, and we met hundreds of relatives whose names I have totally forgotten. But I scrolled through my photo roll and found this:

[My father, Paul on the right. A distant cousin, Tom Egan, on the left. They talked for hours standing at the low wall of Tom’s house. Photo is mine.]

I will wrap things up with these thoughts: I have no reason to believe that James Joyce was anything but a good father. My father was an awesome father.

It’s a day of reflection and thoughts of love. Joyce loved his country. My dad loved the twenty-eight shades of green that you see in Ireland…on just the right day. I love Joyce, my father, Ireland and my children. It’s a giant pyramid of emotion, love and memories.

And I hope I’m a father that has made some kind of positive difference in the lives of my children.

Love is all around