“Everything okay, Dad?” his third-born son asked, breaking into his reverie.
“Aye. I was just thinking about the day you were born.” His lips curled at the memory. “I’ve never seen your mother come so close to thumping another woman as she did that bubble-headed nurse.”
Michael laughed at that. “I’d forgotten about that. She messed up the birth certificates, didn’t she?”
“Aye. Your mother and I wanted to name you Ian, after your great-grandfather. But things were chaotic that night, and the overworked lass got the names mixed up. You became Michael Patrick Callaghan, and the woman down the hall took home Ian Constantine Delvecchio. Sure enough, Michael is a fine name,” Jack continued. “But Erin had already claimed it for her firstborn.”
“It did make for some awkward moments during family get-togethers,” Michael grinned.
“Aye, it did at that.”
“Why didn’t you have it changed?”
“Ach. A tangle of red tape. Plus your mother said you didn’t really look much like an Ian anyway,” Jack laughed. He tried to picture Michael as an Ian and it just didn’t work. “She was right about that. So. Why have you sought me out?”
Michael shrugged. “Do I need a reason?”
“No, I suppose not,” Jack said carefully. “But knowing you, you have one.”
“Yeah, okay. I thought you might like to do something today, away from here.”
Jack turned his gaze back to the fields below. He did want to get away. The farm was beautiful and Maggie was bending over backwards to accommodate him and make him feel welcome, but this feeling of being dependent upon others weighed heavily. He hated the post-bypass restriction of not being able to drive for six weeks, and that he couldn’t come and go as he pleased.
“What did you have in mind?”
“I thought I’d leave that up to you.”
Jack didn’t hesitate. “I want to go to the Pub.”
Michael grinned. “Thought you might.”
Good man, Michael.
Before long they were on their way into Pine Ridge proper. When they arrived at the Pub, Michael pulled around and stopped in front of the back door, but made no move to get out of the car.
“You’re not coming?” Jack asked.
“No. I’ve got some stuff to do at the hospital. I’ll be back for you in a few hours. Only once up and down the steps, and slowly. Doctor’s orders. And if that isn’t enough incentive,” Michael smirked, “I’m telling Maggie.”
Jack acknowledged Michael’s gift with a nod. That was the difference between men and women, or at least one of the many. Much of a man’s sense of dignity came from doing things for himself. When he had to depend on others, he felt like less of a man. Kathleen used to say that kind of thinking came from a lingering strand of cavemen DNA, and maybe she was right. He’d been raised by a generation where gender roles were far more rigid than they were today; his parents’, even more so.
It didn’t matter. Outdated or not, he had definite ideas on what made a man a man. Honor. Pride. Strength. Courage. Self-reliance. When things got tough, a man pulled himself up by his bootstraps and did what he needed to do. He provided for his family, even if it meant selling a part of his soul to do it.
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December 1982
Pine Ridge
Jack sat at the kitchen table, wolfing down a sandwich before he opened the Pub for business. In a rare moment, seven-year-old Kane and five-year-old Jake were actually getting along, laughing together as they built and destroyed towers of painted wooden blocks and Legos on the floor. Three-year-old Michael sat nearby with a stack of pop-up books, glancing up every now and then to check out their progress. And one-year-old Ian made a game of snatching blocks away from his older brothers and cackling wickedly before flinging them back at their heads. Each time he did, one of the older boys would reach out and knock him over, but it didn’t stop him. He’d pretend to pout for a minute or two, then approach from a different angle.
Their physical resemblance was striking; all were big for their age, with jet black hair and bright blue eyes. There was no doubt they were his sons; each was a slightly different image of him at those ages.
Personality-wise, however, they were quite different. Kane was quiet and intense. Jake was intense, too, but tended to be a bit more tactful to get what he wanted. Michael was studious, preferring puzzles and books to trucks and cap guns. And Ian, well, Ian was what his grandmother would have gleefully called a “mischievous imp”. His primary source of amusement was anything that annoyed his older brothers.
Jack took a moment to appreciate the scene. He had a beautiful, loving wife, and four happy, healthy sons with another child on the way. He couldn’t have asked for anything more.