Yesterday I walked into the James Joyce with a wooden nickel in my pocket. A wooden nickel given to me last May and has been sitting on my dresser all summer.
My plan was to pay it forward to a stranger in the pub. I walked into the Joyce and said hello to a few of the guys I knew who were sitting in the front window. Then I took an open spot at the bar.
Standing to my right were three Berwyn guys cleanly dressed in pressed pants and fresh golf shirts. They could easily have been three soldiers for Mr. Accardo and Mr. Giancana back in the day.
To my left was a lady sipping a beer working on her laptop. Short blonde hair wearing a light blouse and a longer loose skirt.
I only had one token so I couldn’t offer it to the mobbed up guys. So I nervously decided to offer it to the lady sitting by herself.
“Pardon me…. I’m not trying to hit on you, but I’m here to have a shot on my father’s death anniversary and I have a wooden nickel that he’d like me to pass forward today.”
She smiled and was comfortable right away. She said she was sorry for the circumstances for my visit to the Joyce and told me her father’s birthday is tomorrow. It’s his third birthday in heaven.
Our conversation turned to our fathers in heaven and how she was thinking of him deeply the last few days. She pulled a locket from under her blouse that held her dad’s ashes.
My shot of Tullamore DEW arrived and I lifted it up to my father and told him I missed him. After I put the glass down I introduced myself to Sheila and we talked for several minutes.
Sheila was a realtor and earlier in the day she did an inspection in a house that had several items that reminded her of her father. I told her they were there as reminders from heaven. Those were at that house to let her know her dad was near.
I told Sheila how my mom leaves dimes for me occasionally and often wakes me up at 2:22am. At this point the conversation could have ended because I was some kind of weirdo, but it carried on as Sheila needed the boost of spirit the day before her dad’s heavenly birthday.
Paths cross for a reason and yesterday I bellied up next to a girl who missed her daddy. I just happened to be there to share a whiskey with mine.
We talked for ten minutes and Sheila was off to see her daughter run cross country. I finished my beer, chatted with the owner and was off to get White Castles for George and I.
I’m sure Don Shepley will find Sheila’s dad today and wish him a happy birthday.
The quick trip to the Joyce was symbolic of a lesson my dad taught. Be kind to strangers because they might just need a friendly hand.
I hope Sheila makes a meat and potatoes dinner tonight for her family in honor of her dad.
The quote on the board is from my dad’s favorite poet, William Butler Yeats. It was fitting for my Monday afternoon stop at the James Joyce.
