Nuala O’Faolain once said Irish emigrants who have been in America for a long time have simplified their vocabulary and “lost that freedom to expand at least verbally”.
Have we lost our verbal dexterity – our gift of the gab – or is it just a matter of degree?
I’m back in Boston after a week traversing across Ireland and wondering if I’ve “flattened out” as O’Faolain would say. Am I still charming when just buying a loaf of bread or have we all been flattened out – those of us, that is, who’ve been in the US or Australia for too long?
O’Faolain never mentioned what was ‘too long’ but I’m guessing I qualify. I left Ireland via way of London in the autumn of 1989 and have been in the Boston area ever since.
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I don’t think it is just conversations O’Faolain was referring to, but rather a connectedness, a relationship, a conversation that needs and wants to be teased out. I’m not sure that can be lost.
The saying goes: Give me a child until he is seven and I will show you the man. I imagine Ireland responding with: Give me the child until he is seven and they’ll blabber on forever when the time and situation allows.
After 35 years in the US, why am I thinking about this “flattening out”? I’ve been reading O’Faolain’s memoir Are You Somebody? and have become interested in her reawakening to her Irishness, after many years living and working in the UK. Maybe I am also reawakening to my Irishness, whatever that may look like.
My two boys didn’t show much interest in Ireland in their early years. While all my friends’ kids were watching and playing soccer, mine were playing ice hockey or beating the stuffing out of a bag in a ring. They showed no interest in All-Ireland finals or county colours, no matter what I did or said. Maybe it was me – I had flattened out.
I arrived back in Ireland for a visit in November 2025 with my sons. One was already in college in Dublin and the other was travelling with me across the country.
My eldest (24) had visited Ireland many times as a child, but only once did we venture west of the Shannon. Our backyard was Belfast to Dublin and not far beyond this narrow corridor.
But my boys wanted the Irish American version of Ireland and I wanted to show them it existed somewhere out there.
So I rented a car and we set off in search. We arrived at Kylemore Abbey at almost 4pm with winter sun setting fast.
There wasn’t a tourist in sight as the dehumidifiers hummed after the latest deluge of rain. As we perused tourist brochures, a polite but direct voice asked us to leave and come back tomorrow.
“You’re closing then?”
“Yes we are.”
With my hands in my pockets I moved in the direction of the counter and asked “what’s happening with the dehumidifiers?” and off we went in conversation.
As we exited the building I heard a shout from behind and a wave – “go back up to the gate and let yourselves in”.
We experienced Kylemore Abbey at dusk and my son and his girlfriend were delighted; then off to Clifden we went as darkness descended quickly.
“How did you convince her to let us in, Dad?”
“Just a connection.”
As a treat we spent the next two nights at Ashford Lodge and went south to Galway and northeast to Louth, chatting along the way to strangers.
We arrived in Dundalk where I met an old friend for dinner at a local pub. A group of four sat at the table to our right. I was alerted by my dinner companion to one of their names. We moved over to introduce ourselves.
“Do you know who I am?” my friend said with a grin to the table.
A puzzled face looked up. ‘“No but I know who that fella is with you” and pointed directly at me. “He’s the image of his father.”
Sure enough he got my family name correct and began to tell me how we are related through cousins. We went across the local town lands and people for the next 15 minutes, exploring relatives long lost to America and the grave.
“You’ve been away for a while then? America?”
“Yes, 35 years and counting.”
On our way out the door I turned to my friend and asked.
“Do you think I’ve flattened out?”
“Well not with that meal you just downed,” and we moved out into the cold night laughing all the way down the street.
Sean Rogers is originally from Dundalk but lives in Cambridge MA with his wife. They have two grown-up sons. He works in the cybersecurity technology area.
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