Me and Michael D

There’s some nice perks to my job – but there’d need to be.  Working for a local authority is tough at times, with Joe, or Josephine Bloggs channeling their frustrations about ‘the Council’/’the system’, or indeed, the world on you, as a public face of the organisation.  An invitation arrived on my desk recently.  ‘The OPW and The Royal Parks, London invites you to the launch of ‘Parks, Our Shared Heritage’ an exhibition showcasing three centuries of history at these magnificent Parks.  Farmleigh Gallery, Phoenix Park. 

The exhibition was to be opened by President Michael D Higgins.

Sold.

I’ve always been a fab of Michael D.  I don’t remember when I became aware of his existence, but when I did, I was struck by this uber intelligent man speaking passionately and unapologetically about the arts and culture.  Music to my ears.  

Seven years ago this week, Michael D travelled to Athy to launch the Athy Film Club in Athy College. Hearing him speak with pride about his contribution to film development in Ireland was a reminder that people, politicians can, and do, make a difference.  He obliged me again, in the run up to his Presidential election, when he launched the Kildare Readers Festival in Newbridge.  There, he was presented with the ‘Dara Bronze’, a limited edition coin, designed by Mary Gregoiry and commissioned by Kildare County Council, in recognition of his contribution to the cultural life of the country.  The coin had previously been awarded to Dermot Earley.

In 2010, I was part of the organising committee of a conference in Limerick University ‘25/25 Arts and Culture in Local Development’, with the lovely Monica Corcoran and Sheila Deegan.  It was one of the most stressful projects I had been involved with, mainly because there were so many partners attached.  The day before the conference, we got word that the then Minister for Environment, John Gormley would not be joining us at the conference dinner in Thomond Park to formally open the conference.  We didn’t get an explanation, but there was Trouble in Dail Paradise at the time.  I got on the bat phone to Jack Wall, then Labour TD in South Kildare and asked (pleaded) if he could get us Michael D instead and that he did.  Bless your red socks Jack. 

I phoned Michael D who advised that he was launching a book in Kildare Street, Dublin at 6pm the following evening, but he hoped to be with us by the time dessert was being served in Limerick.  No pressure like.  I can’t say that I tasted any of the food I ate that evening, clock watching, as we looked over the rugby grounds, but true to his word, the Bat Mobile driver got Michael D to Thomond Park, just as the pavlova was being licked from the bowls.  Calm as anything.  He was on crutches, having broken his kneecap in a fall, while on a humanitarian mission in Columbia.  He later joked about his ‘famous Colombian knee’.  Some of the officials were concerned about how we would get Michael D on stage, without drawing attention to his injury.  With a link of my arm and a quick hoosh, he was good to go.  His speech was spot on.  He ‘got’ arts officers, understood the complexity of what we do within the complex local government structure and spoke with knowledge and understanding about the Arts Council and the cultural landscape in Ireland.  It was powerful, funny and emotional.  The day was saved.

Time moved on and Michael D was elected as President of Ireland.  

My then toddler son was playing with my work phone one Saturday morning.  Through my half-sleep, I heard the phone beep and I knew he had sent a text message.  It read ‘snfowqu4-dnlj1 u470r9’ and was delivered to Michael D Higgins. It was 7.34am.  I didn’t get a text back.

Notwithstanding this, My Boy has always had a curiosity with the President.  Both my children have met various elected representatives, while attending events with me and can see that they are accessible.  He knows the President is in that pool of people and doesn’t see why we can’t just knock on the door of Aras an Uachtarain and say ‘how’s it goin?’ when we are at the Zoo. 

The children didn’t have to be asked twice if they wanted to come to the exhibition launch in Farmleigh with me.  The Boy wanted to know if he needed to ‘wear a suit to meet the President’.  ‘You do’, I said, seeing this as an opportunity to upgrade his bland wardrobe.  50% off the Paul Costello communion/confirmation range at Doon-A’s Boutique, and he was suited and booted.

 

Over excitement on the day and not liking change, The Boy had a meltdown getting on the suits and boots.  Moving from beige chinos to suit trousers was a step too far and we compromised with grey chinos.  The jacket and suit were non-negotiable.  The Girl, usually glued into black leggings, thankfully didn’t resist her guna deas.  They brought pens and paper to get autographs for their friends.  I had the usual interrogation in the car journey. 

‘What does the D in Michael D stand for?’ ‘Where is his real house?’ ‘How small is he?’ 

The pair of them said that I was ‘embarrassing’ as I walked to Farmleigh, with my heels-high in my hand, ‘the guards are looking at you’.  ‘It’s my job to embarrass you, I’m your mother’, I said in defence, and ‘the Gardai are only admiring my dress’.

The exhibition was fabulous, but also jam packed.  Guest speaker was gastronome-turned-preservationist and Chairman of Hyde Park Lloyd Grossman.   The chances of meeting the Pres were looking slim, never mind the Q&A’s or the autographs.  After the speeches, I made a bee-line for the Pres, who was surrounded by people.  I patted nice-OPW-person on the shoulder and pointed to the two expectant faces.  ‘They’re only 9.  Would love to meet Michael D’.

Handing my camera to a random stranger, I introduced Michael D to the children.  He shook their hands and we got a rushed photograph, with little time for small talk – everyone in the room wanted a part of the President.

We meet Jack L and I tell him that the first event I attended at was an amazing concert with Jack and the National Concert Orchestra - It was part of the launch programme for Farmleigh, when the public were complaining that the State had bought and refurbished the facility, somehow missing that Farmleigh was for the public.

On the way home, the children agreed that Michael D wasn’t as short as they had expected. Disappointed that they didn’t get the presidential signature on paper, they discussed faking his signature,but decided against it.  

The Boy said ‘I don’t think he really remembered you Mam’, further deflating my delicate ego.  ‘Doesn’t matter son, I’ll immortalise ‘‘us’’ in a blog’