Life's a bastard...but sometimes it lets up

The life and times of an ordinary Dublin girl. Follow her journey as she finds out working from home really ISN'T about watching Oprah all day and that perhaps men aren't really all bastards.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Who's ya Daddy?

I WAS reading an article in one of my monthly glossy wimmin’s magazines recently about Father’s Day which is coming up in June.

There were various bits in it which I could relate to such as the author’s father wearing ‘purple y-fronts’ because my Dad has his own unique pair which he insists on calling his ‘knickers’.

Wearing slip on leather shoes, white socks and shorts to mow the lawn was another gem (I can picture Daddy Dunne right now) and also a bit about Dads knowing the directions to anywhere by several different routes.

Anyway, the article reminded me of one particular incident which is ingrained into Dunne Family history about the day our Dad embarrassed us all in front of the whole school.

It was snowing, so Daddy Dunne was dispatched off in the Renault Five to collect us all from school (as far as I recall I had just started and my sisters were in primary, but both schools are within the same complex) so that we wouldn’t be stuck for hours on a bus.

On his way from the car to the front door of the school, Dad passed by my middle sister’s classroom and spotted her sitting facing the window.

In order to attract her attention so that he could let her know he was waiting to collect her, he (for some unknown ungodly reason) picked up a snowball and threw it at the window.

Only, being Ireland and even though it was snowing, it was pretty stuffy out so the window was actually open, meaning the snowball flew straight in and hit the teacher, smack in the back of the head.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Daddy Dunne stayed stock still just staring at the wet startled nun, his empty hand still in ‘throwing’ position, before managing a half-hearted shrug and a wave.

Needless to say, the story flew around the school so by the time the ‘home time’ bell rang, every child was talking about it, and some of the parents too.

“Didja hear? Some gobshite threw a snowball at Sister XX, right in de back o’ de head. De nuns are ragin’ so dey are.”

When it emerged that it was our Dad who was said gobshite, we received such a slagging that we were forced to dye our hair and adopt thick German accents (even me, the baby, four year olds can be so cruel.)

Of course, Mammy Dunne was nono-impresso and he still hasn’t lived it down. To this day she’ll say things like “will you button up your jacket there, you’re embarrassing me like you did that day with the snowball”.

Ah but while we were embarrassed, we were also secretly delighted and proud of him and it’s a tale that’s trotted out at every family reunion. Daddy Dunne: The Man, The Comedian, The Legend.

web statistics

google adwords professionals
google adwords professionals Counter