The Legends (18 page)

“Possibly,” Nigel replied, “But in all my years of watching young men grow and develop on the soccer pitch, I have never seen the likes of young Brian. And after watching his practice regiment with the hurley and ball, I suspect that he will only improve. Meanwhile, if he ever wants someone to just kick a ball around with, I hope you don’t mind him stopping in to see me.”

Cathal smiled, extending his hand, “Not at all, not at all. In fact, it is all a bit embarrassing for me. I enjoy the sport on the television and I have taken him to Lansdowne Road for soccer and rugby, Croke Park for hurling and Irish football and everywhere in between, but as far as actually kicking, catching or hitting a ball, I am totally hopeless.”

“Well, we all have different gifts,” Nigel said as he stepped back from the wall. “From my brief time with him, Brian strikes me as a great little fellow, a credit to your wife and yourself, and I am sure that everything will work out for the best.”

Margaret O’Neill put the large glass of milk and two or three of her special chocolate chip cookies on the plate in front of her young friend. While she scurried to the refrigerator to retrieve a soup bone for Molly, she asked, “And how was school today?”

Brian, who was usually much more animated, said nothing for a moment, concentrating on eating around the chocolate chips so that he could save as many of them as possibly for the last bite.

“That bad?” Margaret asked sitting in her customary seat at the round table, next to him.

From the moment she first held Brian in her arms, Margaret experienced a strange kinship with the boy and she not only knew when he was upset, but usually she knew the reason. Brian’s immediate problem, if you wanted to call it that, was sport. One day, while Cathal O’Sullivan was taking his son to a match, Evelyn called around to discuss the matter.

“It appears,” she began, “that our Brian has inherited a remarkable physical constitution from his ancient parents and grandparents. When we took him to our doctor before starting school, the doctor said he had never seen a child with Brian’s muscle tone, reflexes, eye sight and a number of other more complicated things that escape me at the moment. I asked if this presented a problem and was told, not at all, in fact he could not imagine a healthier child.”

“Well that is undoubtedly good news,” Margaret replied.

Evelyn said, “Yes and no. As you know from all that media coverage a while back, these traits have apparently given him athletic skills and abilities that are far superior to anyone his age or, for that matter, children several years older than he. You remember those legends of Cúchulainn, or Setanta, as a young boy having unbelievable skill with the hurley and ball. Well, maybe our Brian is the son of Cúchulainn or one of the Red Branch Knights because apparently that is the level of his skill, and he is only a small child. I realize that he nearly lives with his hurley but the people at St. Faolán GAA club say that no amount of practice could produce such natural ability, especially for a child that young. It seems that he can also run faster, jump higher and is remarkably more coordinated than children many years older than he.”

At the time Margaret had not quite seen the difficulties this gift could create, “Well that should certainly serve him well in years to come,” she offered.

“Perhaps,” Evelyn replied, “but for the present, he is not allowed to compete. His skills are so superior to those of other children his age that neither the management at the GAA nor ourselves for that matter had any choice. Our little boy has been sacrificed for the good of the many who apparently would not improve or enjoy the sport if they had to compete with the likes of Brian. And then he is not allowed to play in older divisions because, not only is he even better than they are but physically quite small. There is a concern, justified I suppose, that he would embarrass older children and possibly be hurt, intentionally or by accident.”

“The GAA club was most apologetic but their only advice was to bring him back in a few years. So the bottom line is that we have a little boy who is an incredible athlete but has no outlet for his skills and abilities.”

Margaret finally appreciated the problem. “So how does he cope?”

“Brian spends a great deal of time off on his own, with Molly of course, playing games he has invented. I suppose you could say that he competes against himself.”

“My goodness,” Margaret replied, “I’m not so sure that is a good thing.”

“Well, it’s not the end of the world,” Evelyn said sipping her tea, “but it does present other problems. It seems that everyone for miles around has heard the story and that means it is a fertile source of gossip and dinner table conversation. You know how children interpret perfectly innocent remarks, or remarks that are meant to be humorous that they hear from their parents…well you can imagine what the parents are saying about our little boy. Apparently some children look on Brian as some sort of freak so he is shunned.”

“As a result Brian won’t play in schoolyard games because, he says, it wouldn’t be fun for him and it would be unfair to the other children. I believe, however, that he is just not invited. Little boys make friends with other little boys by playing and roughhousing on the playground and he can’t do that. To be honest, I am concerned that he will become some type of introvert, not only in the games he plays but in his entire social life.”

Margaret thought about what Evelyn told her. “Surely there are children on the other end of the scale who may be very shy or overweight or handicapped in some way and they get on with other children.”

“Yes, of course,” the younger woman replied. “It seems that children have a remarkable capacity for accepting those less fortunate. They have difficulty with gifted children, perhaps because either they don’t encounter them very often or when they do, they don’t realize it… and that is our Brian.”

After Evelyn departed, Margaret spent a great deal of time thinking about what she had been told. Brian had always been a bright and happy little boy and the last thing she wanted was for him to lose interest in school and become withdrawn. She wished there was something constructive that she could do to help him, but nothing came to mind. Well… perhaps one thing. She could talk to him about it. Margaret knew that Brian was a bright little fellow and she believed that, with a little encouragement, he would sort things out in his own mind. She hoped she would say the right thing.

The following day Margaret looked at the boy sitting quietly at her table, his hands on his forehead. Margaret had never known Brian to cry, but she could see that he was as near to tears as the child could be and it almost broke her heart. Almost sensing his despair, Molly abandoned her treat and sat next to the boy with her great head on his lap.

“I don’t think I like school anymore,” he said quietly.

“Did something happen today that made you sad?” Margaret asked.

Brian thought about that for a while and encouraged by the old woman’s kindly smile, he replied. “No, not really. It is just that I would rather be out in the fields. Sometimes I dream I have a brother to play with and pretend that we are playing games together but mostly I play with Molly because she is always around.”

Margaret nodded her head, “I can understand that, but sometimes everyone has to do things they don’t really want to do. Why would you rather be in the fields when there is so much to learn in school?”

“Because Molly is my friend and I have no friends in the school,” he replied without hesitation.

“Oh,” Margaret said, “that is sad. I think you are a grand wee boy and I can’t imagine why you have no friends. Could you help me to understand?”

“I don’t know,” was the solemn reply. “In school I try to be like the other boys and girls. I sit and listen carefully and do my work even though I feel like getting up or doing something else. I keep telling myself that as long as they can sit and listen, so can I. But then we go onto the playground and everyone is running around talking and playing games. When I try to play like them or talk to them they turn and walk away. So I stand by myself and think in my mind that I am off in the fields with my brother and Molly.”

“Thank you, Brian,” Margaret said. “Now I do understand. But, you know, I have an idea. Tomorrow, don’t even try to play with the other children, or even talk to them. But don’t think about playing with Molly either. What I think you should do is stand at the side of the playground and look around very carefully. And see if you can see anyone else who is standing alone, not playing or talking with anyone. If you see someone like that, you should go over to them and tell them your name and start talking to them. Would you try that for me?”

The little boy looked up at Margaret with what she could only describe as a small expression of optimism and he said, “I think I could try that Mrs. O’Neill.”

When he visited her the following day, Brian had reverted to his happy form. The story spilled from the young boy who couldn’t wait to tell Margaret all about his experience. He found a new friend, a girl called Libby. Brian explained that he introduced himself, just like Margaret suggested, and she didn’t run away so they started to talk. Brian told the old woman that even though it was sometimes hard for him to understand what Libby was saying, she was very nice and had a lovely smile. He told Margaret that the two of them stood together and laughed at the silly things some of the other children were doing. Apparently Libby’s sister, called Katie, came over and tried to drag Libby away from Brian but Libby said she wouldn’t go because she was having too much fun, so Katie left and Libby and Brian talked away.

Margaret was thrilled with his happiness. “Now you must always remember,” she told him, “how sad you were when you had no friends and how Libby became your first friend.”

“After Molly, of course,” he replied happily as the big dog wagged her tail.

The next day brought more good news. Brian reported that he and Libby were having such a good time that Katie came over and instead of trying to take Libby away, she joined in. Katie was apparently very pretty with long dark hair but she didn’t smile nearly as much as Libby. Katie was one of the smartest kids in the class and it turned out that she was very nice as well. After that, it seemed that Brian acquired a few more friends, all girls except for one little fellow in a wheel chair. While he wasn’t playing with the other lads, he was having great chats with his new friends.

On one occasion, Margaret asked him whether he felt sad that the boys still ignored him but he was very philosophical about the whole thing. “After talking to Katie and Libby and everyone, playing silly games with the boys didn’t look like that much fun anymore. Besides, a couple of the girls know more about sport than I do so we don’t just talk about girly things. One girl supports Arsenal and another Leeds and I back Liverpool so we have a great time arguing over which team is better. You know what I think,” he concluded, “I think that a friend is a friend and it doesn’t make any difference whether it is a boy or girl.”

From then on, Margaret looked forward to the news of Brian’s new friends. She always asked about Libby and it became clear that among Brian’s other endearing qualities, he was loyal to his first friend.

“Oh she’s in great form,” he said one day. “Libby is always smiling even though she is a bit heavy and can’t run around very much and she is not nearly as smart as Katie. Sometimes some of the kids make fun of her like calling her a retard, but when I threaten to sort them out unless they apologize, they usually say they are sorry.”

“You wouldn’t push or hit another child, would you?” Margaret said with some concern.

“Of course not,” Brian replied with a smile. “Sure my Dad would kill me. I suppose that is one good thing about being stronger than everyone else. Other boys get in fights now and again but nobody comes near me. Anyway, the only time I ever say anything is if someone is mean to Libby or one of my other friends.”

“Very good,” Margaret replied. “I’m sure Libby is very happy to have a friend like you as well.”

“Oh, I don’t do much,” Brian said. “Libby’s sister Katie is very pretty and very popular and I think that most of the kids would be more worried about her being angry with them than they would be worried about me.”

“And what about the school work?” Margaret asked.

“I try my best but sometimes it is a little confusing,” Brian confessed. “My mom and dad make me work for ages every night and so eventually I work things out, but there is no way I could ever be as smart as Katie.”

“You see, Brian,” Margaret counseled patting his arm, “you should never compare yourself to Katie or Libby or anyone else. You just work hard and do the best you can and no one will complain about whether you are smart or not.”

Brian looked up at the old woman his bright blue eyes sparkling. As her aging eyes captured his, Margaret knew that the young boy was completely receptive to everything she said. Somehow she suspected that a bond between the two had been created in a time a place many centuries before. Although he may not have been conscious of their deep connection, he knew that he could trust Margaret and her wisdom without hesitation. Margaret prayed that she would always be worthy of that trust.

Excerpt from the Local Newspaper:

Drogheda News:
Regular readers will remember our story a few years back on Brian O’Sullivan, a young boy with a remarkable hurling talent. The story generated national publicity and the television stations descended on St. Faolán’s GAA Club to film the boy in action. The boy’s father, Dr. Cathal O’Sullivan, a professor of Celtic Studies at UCD, subsequently withdrew his son from the club and the “circus atmosphere” the boy’s talent created.

Although everyone agreed that the proper decision was made at the time, there were many at the club who were concerned that the boy’s remarkable talent might be wasted if he was not allowed to compete. The people of Louth will be happy to hear that, potentially, their greatest hurler since Cúchulainn himself has, in fact, improved considerably in the four years since his last public appearance on the hurling field. In a session at St. Faolán’s GAA pitch last week the nine year old worked out with the club’s senior team. Now that bit bigger and stronger, using a full size hurley, Brian O’Sullivan reportedly dominated every aspect of the game, running through tackles, out jumping players a foot taller than he, making pin point passes and scoring from great distances. Apparently the young man is both faster and quicker than any player on the Louth side. Long time club member Tommy Boyle told this newspaper that it looked to him like young O’Sullivan could score at will but instead chose to involve other players in the action.