In a Word ... Baby

The baby sister celebrates a significant “roundy birthday” (as RTÉ's Ronan Collins would put it) tomorrow. I’m not saying which one. I’d like to be around for my own next roundy birthday. Besides, we’re not telling anyone. Just you.

Say nothing to no one. Or, as Seamus Heaney would have it, “Whatever you say, say nothing”. He taught the baby sister when she was a student teacher in Carysfort. Not many of us can say we were taught by a Nobel prize winner!

Notice the significant “the” in “the baby sister”? Yes, our baby sister is the definite article. Every home should have one. That is not to lessen in any way the standing of our other sister, who is an equally valued family member.

But she does not have a significant birthday tomorrow. Indeed, like the rest of us, she is in no hurry to have another significant roundy birthday any time soon.

Legacy of Violence: A History of the British Empire

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Appreciating careful questions and distrusting easy answers

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Time seems to stand still when a life is on the line, even more so when its yours

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The baby sister is named Sinéad. Another of our father's De Valera things. She was named after Sinéad Flanagan, or Bean de Valera as she became when she married Éamon de Valera in 1910. Our Sinéad once wrote to his Sinéad explaining how she was called after her, and got a lovely reply from that gracious lady.

To say our father admired De Valera is gross understatement. He idolised the man. One of my brothers was named Eamonn Pearse. I hardly need explain that one.

Our Pearse (RIP) died in 2016, centenary year of the 1916 Rising. It is possible our father, who died in 1999, had a hand in that too. It wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing about that man ever did.

The baby sister came in for special attention from me as the oldest and only responsible brother. By then I had achieved a wisdom that has eluded me ever since but that allowed me conclude that few adults were worthy of the name.

Despite which, and while taking care of “the baby”, I once let her fall down the stairs, bumpidy, bumpidy, bump!

After which I established for all time that falling downstairs is no danger to a baby but could be fatal for an alleged babysitter. I survived.

Happy birthday, baby sister. (Shh!)

Sinéad, (Jean, Jennifer, Jane, Janet, in English), meaning “God is gracious”.

inaword@irishtimes.com