The Red-haired King?

Ruadhan is an Irish boy’s name that means “little red-haired one”. It is a diminutive of the Irish word Ruadh, which means “red”. Ruadhan is sometimes anglicized as Rowan. This name means “red-haired king,” as in the red colored hair of foxes today in Clan Dálaigh, County Donegal.

At one point in his life, Jack, took on the name of Rowan leaving his English name to fall by the wayside. Unfortunately, people not caring about whatever Rowan was talking about was an everyday event in his life. No one cared about Jack in any way, nor his actions as Rowan.

Unfortunately, I was new at school and unfortunately was teamed up with Rowan who wanted people to know about the unkind and stupid killing of the Irish in numerous times during the world. For me “at every turn” translated to years and years ago. To my knowledge I had no Irish blood in my veins and did not want to see it trickle down anyone’s face.

My father was in the service. He was not much interested in being Catholic, but my mother grew up that way and wanted me to take advantage of learning because she believed that Catholic schools were places of knowledge. I didn’t care, but tried to follow the wishes of my mother. When I got home after my first day at my new school, she asked how everything went. “I’m teamed up with an idiot” did not seem to be quite the right news to pass along. Instead, I said, “Okay, the teachers seem nice.” “Have you met any new friends.” she asked. I thought about the right thing to say for a few seconds and then finally just lied. “I’m sharing a locker . . . and the guy seems okay.” “Great, my mother said. Invite him to dinner tomorrow night so we can meet him.”

The words “Do I have too” floated through my brain, but of course I already knew the answer. “I’ll see if he can join us tomorrow night.” Mom said, “Get his phone number and address so I can meet the family and talk to his mother.” “Yes, mom.” I responded, knowing I had no choice.

By the time class started the next day, Rowan had already pissed off three or four haters. I was now on their list and if there hadn’t been for the bell ringing, I probably would have spent the morning in the locker.

That afternoon Rowan and I walked home. The bus would have been full of Rowan haters. I got to listen to his ideas and suggestions, and thoughts of the future. Mom tried to cheer us up with a couple bottles of pop. Rowan started talking to my mom until my dad got home and then he talked to my dad. After dinner my dad drove Rowan home. I was relived to stay home.

Mom said nothing much, but I would tell she was thinking and considering . . . something. Dad got home and swore for ten minutes about Rowan. I actually enjoyed his comments. I would have laughed, but mom was about to clash with my dad, which meant it was bed time, or at least time to go to my room and recoup.

Next morning my mom had a plan. She suggested that I step forward and talk about the history of Ireland and the connection of how Abraham Lincoln himself donated to help the starving Irish of years ago as well as the Native Americans who had already suffered great losses in the Trail of Tears, and yet found it in their heart to help the Irish. She came up with a plan to support the ESPN food drive as well as in the name of the Irish.