We asked you, the Irish by Ancestry community, to share stories and memories of your MOST SPECIAL GIFTS for November’s Flash Memoir Contest, and we were so touched by your entries. The heirlooms, the traditions handed down through the generations.
Our winner this month, ERIC CRONIN, shares his signature sentiment-with-humor, in a story of the greatest gifts that touched him. Eric is so consistently generous with his stories in our Irish by Ancestry community, we just had to award him the full December prize.
Congratulations, Eric! Here is his story.
Special Gifts
By ERIC CRONIN
Irish by Ancestry Member
When father came home from a trip, he always brought us gifts, paying attention to the cost price (his budget was small), so dear, they meant more than money.
We still have them all, without exception, and our children, too. Father’s gifts transcend generations. How can you not be proud of your origins and the roots of your existence, especially when they are anchored in Irish and Flemish soil?
It does something to a person, and the older you get, the more. I am 63, and it seems as if I want to pass on everything that I have to my children. Especially these gifts concerning anything with our surname and heritage, that’s how it feels. I do notice the similarities between Ireland and Flanders, maybe it is the religion, the poverty in earlier times, or being overruled by foreign countries, but I could be wrong; I am merely stating.
In Belgium, there are only 35 people with the surname Cronin, and 14 direct family members. When pronouncing our surname, you can be sure that the reaction often comes as “where does that name come from,” and then the explanation always follows (I have lost count of how frequently and how much this happened).
At school, during military service, with people from public services, actually in many places, they mispronounce our surname—Cronijn, Croninckx, Cronen, etc.; you can’t think of anything crazier. One thing is certain: We take pride in our surname and its dual heritage. No matter how often we have to explain, it is always with that pride that we can speak.
On the last birthday of our Father, I was able to give back a little pride as a gift. I found a t-shirt with our surname (what the internet is good for), and I remember him beaming, and the inner joy glinted in his twinkling eyes. His grandchildren designed a special one; he must have felt like a rock star, with a bunch of hardcore fans. Mother was always happy with flowers, Father with something from his homeland (often in liquid form).
Dear reader, I realize that the long intro is simple to write down what I really want to say: The greatest gift you can receive in life is life itself, with everything that comes with it. I can still hear my father saying, “Children conceived by the love of two people, from love for each other.” For my mother, she was more pragmatic; she wanted many children. She herself was an only child for a long time, and she didn’t like that at all. No, the chairs around the table had to be filled with numerous offspring. Five sons; the gender was impossible to choose, but we were so welcome and their wealth, and we knew that until the very last day of their lives.
Some important things in life you only realize when they’re gone, and are considered ordinary, even though they’re not, I think to myself. We’re all born naked, but the cradle you end up in is different for everyone. I must say, we couldn’t have wished for a better cradle, not a luxury model with all the unnecessary luxuries, but a down-to-earth, simple, and solid one, filled with love and wisdom. Giving and receiving appropriate gifts adds a little extra color to life; they’re gratefully given and received, and fill us with mutual joy.
This year, my dear wife gave me a gift that’s literally etched on my body and radiates a part of my heritage. All my life, I’ve been planning to get a tattoo, but it never happened. I always had a reason: “Should I do this?” “What will people say?” “Am I not too old?” “I can’t find a suitable picture,” and countless other variations from me to me.
Every time, and especially after consuming (to put it nicely) a few glasses of beer in good company, I would express my wish, ad nauseam, not for me but for my wife, who would express it in her own way: “Put on a different record,” or “We’ve heard that song often enough,” or the final closing, “Time to drink something else, your barking hours are closing in,” or “Your throat isn’t a drainpipe in a heavy rainstorm.” I have to admit (quietly) and if she’s not listening, she’s absolutely right in those moments. A few months ago, just before my birthday, I was back in the same bed of sickness during a social gathering. I started talking about my wish again. I had crossed the line of sobriety, with all the consequences. It was time for my wife to intervene appropriately, saying, “Eric Cronin, you’re expected at a tattoo studio on June 5th at noon, the appointment has been made, you can see you’re going and won’t be back without a tattoo, and I never want to hear you complain about it again.” I couldn’t resist, despite all the excuses; I absolutely had to get a tattoo. She’d had enough; the last straw had broken the camel’s back.
I found a suitable design, after a very long search, and I went to the appointment. Since then, the symbol of Ireland has adorned my left arm. I haven’t regretted my wife’s decisive approach for a second. On the contrary, I am deeply grateful.
To many, this might sound ridiculous or something not done, but to me, it means much. My roots are literally etched on my body, impossible to wash or erase. It’s there and will remain there until the end of my life, worn with all the pride I feel. For me, the most beautiful gift that I once received. Sometimes it’s good to be pleasantly eccentric. Oh yes, dear reader, a month later, a second one followed. The design was easily chosen, a Trinity knot, inspired by the engraving on my ancestor’s headstone, engraved on my right arm. Because you can’t stand on one leg, you have to live in balance, don’t you?
And here’s a bonus holiday mini-memoir, from me to you about an ornament of great meaning, handed down through the generations … I hope you enjoy it.
What’s Inside: A WWII Ornament’s Message
By SHELAGH BRALEY STARR
RELATED ☘️ Staff
The dull ornament has hung on many trees—first in my memory, my grandmother’s. The simple blue glass ball was so thin, its inside contents were easily visible. Though I found it a curiosity when I was small, this bauble was one we knew never to touch.
By the time I saw it on my grandmother’s large Douglas fir, the ornament hung by a regular metal hook, but inside, pushed down into the unsilvered orb, remained the original cardboard hanger. It was a relic from World War II, a time when metal was rationed, far too precious to waste on something as frivolous as a Christmas tree decoration. My grandmother knew the time well. The Donaghue family contributed plenty to the war effort, in particular, her seven brothers, not all of whom made it home to Lowell, Massachusetts, USA—for Christmas, or ever.
When I gleaned what the paper inside was about, I remember wondering why she would keep and display such a sad reminder of a time when Christmas must have been so strained and subdued. But items like this can buoy our souls, reminding us we can do hard things in times of trouble.
An ornament might have seemed unimportant in the greater picture of world war, but people in those days rallied with creative solutions and workarounds, determined to hold onto traditions that could lift their spirits and provide some sense of normalcy around the holidays. Their ingenuity in finding alternate materials is inspiring.
The ornament reflects its era so respectfully, enduring in the spirit in which it was made. The glass is drab, its color washed out. It’s not at all like the glittering, shiny holiday ornaments we’re used to. It’s far less elaborate than ornaments from other years, and that seems right.
I hung it on my tree last year, weeks before my husband got word from his doctors that he was healthy after a bout with cancer. I looked hard at that somber bit of Christmas past, thinking how my grandmother hung it, determined to carry on. My mother hung the same ornament on her tree after becoming a young widow at 37, committed to creating Christmas magic for us despite her grief. I felt comforted by its message, the simple gift of courage to keep going.
Like my grandmother and mother before me, I will hang that dreary ornament and be grateful for the gift of time, knowing we carried on long enough to see life turn bright again. The miracle of my husband’s recovery fills me with wonder and reminds me: We never know what the next holiday will bring. Take each one and cherish it. Celebrate, holding the hands of those you love. That’s the only gift that matters at all.
RELATED ☘️ 