Eureka

It’s Epiphany today. Growing up, Epiphany was a big deal. As kids, we used to dress up as the “four” kings (my youngest brother Chris not born yet) and bring gifts to the Baby Jesus in our nativity scene. Walking Murph this morning in the snow covered streets of Leaside; I noticed that many of my neighbours celebrate this feast day by dismantling the Christmas decorations, as trees were piled up all along the curbsides. Visits from the Wise Men notwithstanding, getting rid of the needle dropping, fire hazardish branches in time for garbage pick up was the priority.

Waking up as I walked, my brain cranked through the things I have to do today, I decided on what I was going to wear, and mentally reviewed my day’s agenda. Finally, I got round to more philosophical thoughts and wondered about epiphanies. Have I had any recently? When was the last time I thought Eureka! I get it! I realized immediately I wouldn’t ever say Eureka. I don’t have Oprahesque ah-hah moments. More likely, if I did, I’d say something like Holy Fuck! I can be a bit of a potty mouth at times.

The Irish are great cursers. Not in the I curse you and all your ancestors manner, but in the balls out, creatively punctuating everyday conversation kind of way. I like that. Its real, its authentic, its not meant to be offensive. I understand that James Joyce’s Ulysses is a book famous for its use of profanity. We’ll see about that when I get to this book on my list.

What I enjoy most about books is simply that I love words. Interesting turns of phrase, evocative emotional descriptions and a well placed f-bomb all delight me equally. In Paddy Clarke, the boys take new words they hear in class, and randomly insert them in daily life. Ignoramus. Substandard. Trellis. A frequent Friday night game involves the ring leader demanding each member of Paddy’s gang give themselves a nickname for the week. The dirtier the word, the better. Fuck was the best word. The most dangerous word. For a 10 year old boy in rural Ireland, that’s likely true. For a female in 2009, it’s still somewhat of a social taboo. We have codes of conduct at work and censorship in many forms of media. I don’t like the idea that something is verboten. I bristle at the thought of being told what to do. I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older, that direct, clear, straight up communication works best for me. Sometimes that means an intelligent well reasoned argument and sometimes, as said Mark Twain is to have said, I have found solace in profanity unexcelled even by prayer.

Eureka!