an update . . . sort of

i have been absent of late, mostly because of various adventures and the sort that are trivial in matter. however, we have just come back from a four day trip to dublin, where i will try to recount the days with fewer photos, and more words. the photos will come, but for now, the first story, will be photo-less.

this story comes from the first night.

my dad told me to come with him as we crossed the street in downtown dublin. we had been sitting outside our meager hotel talking after dinner. a woman walked on the other side of the street wearing all white. two hundred paces behind, a man yelled after her. with distance between them, she flicked him off. he jogged after her, and that's when my dad decided to "intervene."

we crossed the street and walked towards them. we always could tell that he was an older gentleman, 50-60, but as we approached her, it seemed time came with us. the make up worked from far away, but as we got closer, what once were weird, night-time city shadows, became the deep crevices that come with a hard life and old age. the hair had been dyed and the clothes purchased to curtail this elderly appearance.

as they fought in what might be concluded as a rocky-marital struggle, prior to being judged as a pugnacious elder chasing a younger woman, i slowed down, but did not stop. my father wanted to stick around, so we followed for about half a block. they turned around, saw but paid no heed to us, and continued their escalating argument. she, still ahead of him, held out money, apparently in an effort to prove that she had some. their russian was thick, but the action was clear, as he ripped the money from her hands. i won't speculate as to what the money was for, but apparently that wasn't the source of the problem. she had already tried to signal a taxi once, being angrily coaxed back to the sidewalk. as she signaled for a taxi for the second time, he grabbed her body back to the pavement, so my dad ran up and yelled, "hey!"

they immediately turned around and she was the first to approach my father. expecting a thank you, i was surprised to hear her say "it's ok" in her russian-laced english. he echoed her, both exchanging looks of anger for polite smiles.

we walked off towards the hotel, satisfied as we had intervened. they walked off cordially in another direction, speaking in softer tones, side by side. "you hate to see that," my father said, as if i needed an explanation for his chivalric act. here was a man who constantly complains about his back, had knee operations that kept him out of vietnam, and has a phd in ancient greek. yet, without hesitation of whether the man has a weapon, he will bolt past his own pain to help a woman he had never met.