Interviewing the entire clan allows me to study the wildlife of the baby in the vicinity of my home Séamas O’Reilly
The O’Reilly Clan (now number 36 in the last number) is confusing to anyone. But for a young man, he will have to get used to it.
In the midst of the bustle of an Italian restaurant in Surrey, my son stops trying to eat his own patient and looks for the 14 children who gathered in front of him all for the first time in his small life. Last week’s column underscored the sincere and eternal love I have for my giant family, but meeting them at once is still a serious task. Besides breaking into an embassy or creating a human chain to get orphans through the rift, very few activities recommend 36 participants, which we now gather as brothers, partners and children. Not surprisingly, the prospect of his reaction to the meeting, his embracing, and quietly chewing on all 14 of his fellow children filled us with horror, as well as elation.
It is simply more intelligent and more humane to feed O’Reillys drip to the newcomer over time. My wife first met with my father when we came out a few months, with a couple of sisters thrown. I immediately charmed them, and although vegetarian, politely overlooked my father’s choice to reserve dinner at a meat restaurant, whose bodies were hung from the ceiling. The father of vegetarians is nothing between mental illness and sin, so it is not a small achievement that she charmed him much that night, raising her neck over the bodies of animals all the time, so he now keeps a small attachment Quorn in the freezer, only her.
None of our children has 10 siblings, so this is the only chance we can show them how obsessive our childhood is. We watch them from a distance, like photographers on the planet, and we notice exotic wildlife from a small shed covered with shrubs. We are pleased that we are dismayed to see how our dynamics are intertwined with our religion. Every child clings to those who are above them, persecuting those who are below, ignoring the rest to a great extent. Children lack the low-wits for young children, while the older behaves as protectors and guides.
One exception to this hierarchy is my nephew Donnie, who seems fascinated with his new cousin. At first, I thought my son had given him a glimpse of his old origins. That moment you get from documentaries about chimpanzees, or Facebook reminders that you once loved Nick Clegg.
To his disappointment, his father cast doubt on whether this is a real, or interesting trick. “He knows that we reward him when he is nice, so he acts in this way to achieve this reward,” my brother Dara reminds me, while Michevelli is devoted to the child with kisses, exaggerations and oh. It’s a pretty sophisticated intellectually, in fact.
My father also jokily gives my wife some sausage rolls, and blends the soft hum of the children’s laughter into the sweet white noise, my son sits silently and suckles his jaw. He took the shot whether it was real or not. Maybe it’s more subtle than I thought.