The title of this entry really does sound like it could be the name of an Irish Tune, doesn’t it? Perhaps one day, when I am exceptionally proficient at playing my tin whistle, and adept enough to actually write a tune, I’ll write one and name it “Finbar’s Folly”. Until then, however, I’m thinking I should stick to blogging…which reminds me that I’m supposed to be writing. Onward with today’s random ramblings in written form!

Finbar is five, as of this past January. While not old by anyone’s standards (except perhaps his own), he is still getting bigger by leaps and bounds, much to my chagrin. After all, just yesterday he was still my baby boy. Tempus Fugit…far too quickly for my liking. But even in his five yearness, he has somehow, acquired wisdom in his own, Finny way, in the form of revelations. It is those revelations that I’d like to share, for they really are somewhat humourous.

From the time he was about 2 1/2, Finbar was convinced that he was born in Ireland. Now, mind, I’ve never even been to Ireland, so unless there is something I don’t know, he wasn’t born there. Although, it would make my wish of moving there much more of a reality if his merely saying it made it so. Oh well…

As I was saying, Finbar always thought he was born in Ireland. If someone were to ask him from whence he originally came, he would respond most confidently: “Ireland!!” You may wonder why Fin came to this conclusion, for I admit it is rather odd. Well, let me explain it to you (as if you thought I wouldn’t!!). Quite some time ago, when Finbar was just a wee one, we were visiting friends in New Hampshire. One of those friends is a transplant from Northern Ireland, and the moment she saw Fin, she exclaimed (in my very best Northern Irish accent): “Oh! Doesn’t he have the map of Ireland on his face!!” From that time forward, whenever she saw him, she made sure to remind him of how Irish he looked, and as soon as he was old enough to understand what it meant, he was convinced he was indeed born on the Emerald Isle. He would tell everyone he could find about his self concocted heritage. You can imagine their surprise when I told them, in a hushed tone so I didn’t crush his little spirit, that he was actually born in Ohio. At least the explanation made for humourous small talk.

Unfortunately, the days of Finbar telling people he was born in Ireland are over. Apparently, when he turned 5, he was infused with enough wisdom to realise that he really wasn’t. It’s one of those sad “growing up” tragedies, when certain cutenesses fall by the wayside to be replaced by bigger boy behaviour. I always hate when that happens…it’s almost like the end of a favourite television show. You can reminisce but it’s never like it was.

In the case of Fin, he has indeed moved on, as his fiveishness dictates. He has become a big boy (at least by HIS standards!), which apparently affords little time for such silliness. He very grudgingly states that he was born in Ohio now when pressed, with a certain air of regret. Regret, of course, until his eyes light up and his face breaks into a huge smile…

“But some day I am going to move to Finland, and be the king, because FINland belongs to ME!”

It’s those little gems that make it all worthwile.

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