Master of the Irish Goodbye

but always there when it matters

“Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending.”

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

It never ceases to amaze me how certain basic acts or functions can easily be tied to specific cultures. The examples seem to be infinite. Teaching anthropology certainly lends credence to this belief. Humans and our many differences are absolutely fascinating. Example number 3,850—how we say goodbye to each other—is something that is uniquely inherent among all different walks of life. It’s a skill to be sure, and, in our family, no one makes an exit quite like my cousin Marty.

The Irish goodbye takes skill. It takes timing. But above all a person needs to have the subtlety of a ninja in order to perform such a well orchestrated exit. For those that have never heard of an Irish goodbye, it is basically when somebody disappears, usually from a social gathering, without saying goodbye to anyone. They are oxymoronic to be sure. One minute a family member or friend is standing amongst the group with a can of Natural Light in his or her hand and the next moment they are gone.

You might think such a sudden exit would draw the ire of those hosting the party, or be seen as offensive or rude. Nope. Not in an Irish household. When you realize somebody has successfully pulled off this near impossible escape you can’t help but feel as those watching Harry Houdini must have felt—in awe. It is a far cry from the Italian goodbye. According to my fiancee, who comes from an Italian-American family, the Italian goodbye consists of three phases:

1. The goodbye in the house.

2. The goodbye at the door.

3. The goodbye outside of the car.

These informal farewells usually take close to an hour from start to finish. I have to say they are very impressive. The slowness with which they proceed is definitely something one needs to get used to. There is no quick escape. Every person in the house is hugged, kissed, and made to feel as though they are the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz.

My cousin Marty is twelve days older than me. Our Dads are brothers. No doubt we are Frousins—not just family but great friends as well. In fact, this blog is something I started on his advice after self-publishing my first book A Penny’s Thoughts. He has always encouraged me to keep writing. At some point during the week before hitting the purple publish button every Friday at six in the morning, my cousin takes time to listen and give his thoughts on the week’s topic—except this one. Sorry Cuz.

As a son, brother, uncle, cousin and friend Marty embodies everything an Irish goodbye does not. He doesn’t disappear when people need help. He doesn’t disappear when asked to care for family, especially his parents. He doesn’t disappear when a friend needs him to help out with their kids or a co-worker needs him to cover for them. He didn’t disappear when my Dad asked him to deliver hundreds of coats for the homeless in Cleveland. He didn’t disappear when asked to fly down to Hilton Head last week so his brother wouldn’t have to make a fifteen hour drive alone. He has never disappeared the numerous times I have called upon him for help. He is always there when you need him. In a world where the “cult of me” is so prevalent, my cousin Marty is the type of person our world could definitely use more of.

So thank you Cousin. If anyone deserves to pull an epic Irish goodbye from time to time it is most certainly you. Your exits are the stuff of legend. One might call you the Michael Jordan of them. Any person that spends as much time helping friends and family as you so selflessly have has earned the right to vanish whenever they damn well please!

-Tommy O’Sionnach

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