Songs of an Irishman: My Father’s Watch

By Michael McLoughlin

[Editor’s Note: With the publication of his story today, we welcome Michael McLoughlin as the latest columnist to join our staff. The story also launches his column, “Songs of an Irishman.” His entry in the sidebar tells us a bit about him. Thanks to Columnist Roger Owens for introducing Michael to us.]

About four or five years after my father passed away, my mother found a poem in the newspaper about how one’s name is passed on from father to son and we should keep our name clean and not let it fall into disgrace. She asked me to make an enlarged copy for her at work, which I did. I kept a copy myself and put it above my desk at work. I read it, and then just forgot about it, and it hung there among the many other items pinned to my board.
    Some two or more years passed, and on one of those hectic evenings at work when I was running around like the proverbial chicken, I took a minute to collapse in my chair for a short break. My eyes happened to fall on the poem, and I read it again. The second stanza was, “If you lose the watch he gave you it can always be replaced; / But a black mark on your name, son, can never be erased.”
    I sat back and thought to myself that my old man hadn’t given me a watch, but he sure gave me a lot more. I reflected on the fact that he was quite a guy. The best man I had ever personally known. He was a good and loving father and husband. That was that! Back to work, the poem shelved away in the memory bank.

My father’s obituary, published January 23, 1991,
in The Brookfield Journal, Brookfield, Connecticut

The next day I went to see my mother, as usual, and after walking in and kissing her hello I sat at the table. She immediately walked into the bedroom and returned with a gold watch, which she placed in front of me. She said, “This is your father’s watch, and I’m sure he would want you to have it.”
    She told me that the day before she was looking for something and found the watch under the bathroom sink in a plastic cup. What was odd as well was that she had moved the watch from one place to another after my father passed away and all of their belongings had been moved. All my father’s possessions, such as cuff links, tie clasps, and other personal items were accounted for and divided up among us. His clothes were donated, but my mother kept a suit and a coat as reminders just to hang in the closet.
    No one ever thought of or wondered about his watch! When I read the poem the night before, a thought came to my head 0f the kind of pocket watch you usually see as being passed on from father to son. And here it is! I’m looking at it right now. A gold-faced Bulova self-winding wrist watch with a Twistoflex band. It gains about five minutes every two days, keeping a bit fast so as not to be late – just like my old man.
    So he really did give me his watch. He just waited for the right time and place. I know he must think I’m a fool, but I wouldn’t trade it for a Rolex.

Copyright © 2020 by Michael McLoughlin An immigrant from Ireland at age two, ardent Catholic Michael McLoughlin is a man of wide-ranging avocations. He is the author of The Time of the Canton, a true sea story published in December 2019.