My little brother's wife just gave birth to a healthy man child, Declan Foley Hardage. He was born a couple hours ago at 7 lbs 10 oz, but I hear he's trying to bulk up. My brother and I are from Dallas' suburban mobius strip, but since he moved to Boston and met his wife Kate, whose family is apparently more Irish than a clover sprouting from a potato's eye, I think he's adopted a bit of that culture.
I'm pretty excited about meeting my little Irish nephew. I get to see him and my sister-in-law's family later this summer. Both sides of my family are as far as you can get from Boston Irish, or at least what the movies have taught me about the Boston Irish. So it's going to be awesome for my little sobrino to grow up with that heritage and have that perspective. I'm pretty envious, actually.
I mean, I'm proud of my family and my ancestors, but I can't hear them in my accent or see them in my community's architecture or taste them in my family's cooking. Not that I'd trade my spinach enchiladas or vegan nut loaf, but it must be different to have that connection. Maybe like a reminder or a guide or a comfort. Declan and I will have much to talk about.