An Irish Blessing

This was written by John in 2003 about his beloved mother Agnes and appeared in the book "I Love You Mom!: A Celebration of Our Mothers and Their Gifts To Us"

My mother, Agnes, was born in Ireland and is one of twenty-four children. When she came to this country, she worked as a domestic taking care of ladies and would wind up being their best friend. She'd clean their houses and bring us big bags of secondhand clothes. I was one of the best-dressed kids around. I was wearing clothes with names like "Neil Goldberg" sewn into them-but the garment was from Saks! My father, John, also came off the boat from Ireland with a note and met a labor leader at the time, who put him to work at Con Edison, where he stayed for forty-six years. My mother and father met at an Irish dance hall in New York City. He was in the Air Force, and when he walked in wearing his uniform, my mother, who was with my Auntie Maggie, turned to her and said, "I'm going to marry this man." Eight weeks later she did, and they were together forty-six years.

They believed in one another, loved one another, and they gave me sisters and me above and beyond what they had. There were times when we were eating Spam and poached eggs every night, but they gave us the things you can't buy--civility, compassion, love and caring. They pumped up our hearts.

I was born and raised in the Bronx, the unofficial capital of Ireland, and when I was in high school we moved out to Long Beach on Long Island--the Irish Riviera. I was very fortunate; both my mother and my father were always my best friends. I lost my father four years ago. I have three siblings and my mother has always been our pillar of strength, our rock. She's never wrong. The other day I was at the airport and was standing near a girl who was arguing with her mother and I said, "Listen, your mother is not wrong. Mothers are always right." She looked at me and asked, "What do you mean?" and I said, "Believe me, the older you get, you'll see. They're never wrong because they have such an unconditional love for you. You might not want to hear what they're saying, but it comes from a place of love."

I've always been best friends with my mother--we're thick as thieves. We were both born in June, both Cancers. My father and I had a typical father-son relationship but my mother and I have always been major allies. I give a lot of credit to my mother for all the good things that have come into me in my life.

I remember the exact moment I decided I wanted to be an actor. I saw a James Cagney movie and I said "That's it!" Being that I was the only son, I think my father would have liked to see me be the president or a priest. For a long time, I never said anything about wanting to be an actor. At twenty-seven years old, after working at Con Edison for ten years myself, I pursued acting. My father, because he loved me, was not happy about this. ("Great, my son is an actor. He's going plays for free.") My mother said "Go for it." The greatest thing was when I was in my first play and my father came with a camcorder. They were new at the time and huge. On stage, a friend said to me, "Is that your father in the front row?" I said with a big smile, "Yeah." Afterward, my father said to me, "You know, there was a moment up there when you could have..." and I said to him, "All of a sudden you're Otto Preminger."

My mother is very proud of her son, the actor. I've taken her on location with me and people make a big deal out of her, as well they should. She's honest, direct, and compassionate. She's tough and brutally honest. She'll say to me, "You look a little tubby there. Did you put on a few?" I went to Puerto Rico last May and I guess I hit the buffet table too many times. When I came back she said, "How was your vacation? You're relaxed? Good. Now get to the gym." I didn't go back to see her until I dropped ten pounds.

My mother is a great woman. She has these great expressions like so many Irish women do--for example, "Sometimes saying nothing says the most." She'll drop little things on you that always seem to be apropos of what is about to happen. She always just knows. I think when you're that connected to a person--especially your mother, the person who carried you inside of her--they know. I'm an actor by trade and when actors are not acting, they're brooding or they're filling up the reservoir with life experience which will serve them down the road in their acting gigs. My mother will sometimes call me and say, "I know you're lying around feeling sorry for yourself. Get up and get out." I'd say, "How did you know that?" She just knows. She's so in tune with me.

I've inherited an inner strength, a faith in God, and a sense of humor from her. I'm a typical male--I'm forty-six years old and it's taken me forty years to grow up and I'm still honing the skill. My mother (and my father, too) gave me the passport to the universe, which is "excuse me," "please," "thank you," "I'm sorry," and "I was wrong." That's it. You can go anywhere in the world to places that people don't even know what you're saying and you can transmit those things through your eyes. You can look at a person and be sympathetic with that person right then and there. You can breeze through a room that way.

I was pretty wild when I was young--involved in drugs, alcohol, fighting, in trouble with the law, the whole thing. My mother and my father (I have to include him because they were one) always told me, "What you're doing is wrong. It's not going to benefit you during the rest of your life." I didn't have the type of parents who when I did something wrong said, "He didn't do it." If I was wrong, I was wrong. They allowed me to learn from my mistakes. That's one of the most important things I learned from my mother. When you're wrong, you're wrong. Admit your mistakes, suck it up, and be a man. I was lucky and blessed to have that. The greatest lesson she taught me was that people are people. Relax, take it easy, roll with the punches. You get more with sugar than you do with salt. It's nice to be nice. My mother is the sweetest lady in the world. She's my heart.

Copyright 2003. My Poppy, Inc.

Ripa, Kelly (2003). I Love You Mom!: A Celebration of Our Mothers and Their Gifts To Us. An Irish Blessing. New York, NY: Hyperion.

You can buy this book here: Click here: Amazon.com: I Love You, Mom!: A Celebration of Our Mothers and Their Gifts to Us: Kelly Ripa: Books