And here we are, for the second week running. Owen Colgan has taken over Boneyard HQ and locked himself inside. It’s midnight. He taps away at the typewriter, a single bead of sweat dripping from his brow. His bloodshot eyes, twitching. His mouth, frothing. He pounds excitedly at the keys and laughs wildly under the moonlight. A comedian, actor, guru, wise guy… call him what you will… He is here to teach us a valuable lesson. To put right what once went wrong. Just like Sam Beckett strove to do each week in Quantum Leap. But in a less time travelly way. He is a Mayo man. But for one night only, Tyrone is his oyster. Take it away Owen….
I decided to apologize to my father the other day, not because I did something wrong, but to prove my dominance as the alpha male of the family. The situation arose when I went for a leisurely walk to enjoy some fresh air. As I strolled past his house, I noticed a random tractor in the nearby field. Curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn’t resist informing my father about this peculiar sight. After texting him, I continued my walk, basking in the sunny weather and blue sky.
To my surprise, when I checked my phone later, I saw three missed calls from my father. I promptly called him back, only to be greeted by his agitated voice. “Did you move the fence?” he shouted without giving me a chance to respond. Confused, I asked, “What do you mean?” He grumbled, “The wire is on! Ah, Jesus Christ!” and abruptly hung up.
Although my father had no right to berate me over the phone, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. What if that was our last interaction? Filled with mixed emotions, I made up my mind to pay him a visit and offer my apology. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was apologizing for, but I figured it was the best course of action—to let him win this one. As I approached his house, I noticed him standing outside, lost in his characteristic blank stare. It was his way of meditating, gazing into the distance for hours on end.
“Father?” I called out, but he didn’t turn his head or acknowledge my presence. Undeterred, I tried again, “Dad!” Still, he remained unresponsive. Finally, standing right behind him, I mustered the words, “Sorry about before. I didn’t realize the fence was up.” It was a strange apology since I had no way of knowing about any fence or what it meant to him. After all, I had long abandoned the idea of following in his footsteps as a farmer. My dream was—and still is—to be a YouTuber, a fact he despised. But times have changed, and there are alternative paths to success, even in the realm of streaming Virtual Farmer.
“I apologized to my father again, saying, ‘Well, I’m sorry,'” I added, unsure of the exact reason behind my apology. My father finally turned his head slightly and asked, “For what?” Unable to provide a satisfactory answer, I walked away, leaving him with a sense of control. As a 40-year-old man, I couldn’t help but feel pathetic, questioning my own actions and their underlying motives.
The absurdity of the situation loomed over me, but I couldn’t shake off the strange blend of guilt, defiance, and uncertainty. It was a peculiar encounter, one that left me pondering the complexities of family dynamics, personal aspirations, and the bizarre nature of human interactions.