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 apologise 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 apologising 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 realise 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 apologised 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.
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