My son, the rock god | Séamas O’Reilly

Being a big brother brings responsibilities, to crying babies and cooing monsters of rock

Brotherhood appears to be bringing out the best in our boy. On the way back to Ireland, our son offered to hold the hand of a two-year-old child who was blocking the escalator to the plane. She’d been spooked by the movement and was causing a gridlock on the motorised stairs that would have been quite tense, had his response to it not been so comically adorable.

He asked why she was crying and told her there was nothing to worry about, drawing admiring awwwws from our fellow passengers. As my son counselled her through the horror, the growing line of people behind us seemed not irritated but, and I can scarcely believe I’m telling you this, charmed by the whole event. As strange and delightful as that was, this event was made even more surreal by the fact the passengers directly behind us were the full lineup of American emo behemoths My Chemical Romance, en route to play two sold-out Dublin shows as part of their massive comeback tour. As they cooed over my good young boy and his caring ways, I found myself wishing I knew even one of their songs so I could end this article with a knowing reference to their work. Alas, my teenage music tastes ran mostly to abstruse electronica and I only knew them then as that band my friend Eoghan liked. Now, of course, I know them mostly as kind men, with great taste in sons, and maybe I prefer it that way. ‘Thanks, My Chemical Romance’ I thought, but did not say, since my wife would have killed me if I had.

Continue reading…