Category: Lucky Eleven

Sean T., or Sean T. Highpockets is what Dad always called him. My brother Terry just calls him ‘Bubber’.

Sean was a mischief-maker extraordinaire well into his college years. He was a pretty easy-going kid, quick-witted and smart and pretty darned popular in school. I have several memories of Sean that make me shake my head and smile.

I was married with kids when Sean was in high school, and we lived about a half mile down the road. Our parents were in the habit of going away every year for an extended weekend. That was the perfect opportunity for a PAR-TAY at O’Connors! During one such ‘par-tay’ I received a frantic call from Molly saying I needed to get down there. I walked in the front door to a true Animal House scene filled with high-schoolers, music blaring, booze and beer everywhere. Someone was on a table. I found the younger kids and advised them to stay in the basement. After careful consideration, I went on through the kitchen and out the side door, shaking my head thinking, “I got nothin’.” At University of Michigan, Sean was eventually forced to put an ad in the college paper that read, “Quad Four keg king tapped out, kicked out, needs room.”

At the same time, this was the kid who would sit and read the newspaper front to back, put himself through U of M laying down tar on driveways all summer long, and start several businesses that now employ hundreds of people nationwide. He loves fast motorcycles and fast boats. He eventually got his pilot’s license, probably thinking it was the ultimate in fast (except it always feels pretty slow). He is smart, extremely funny, and can ‘Bust a Move’ when he chooses. He is thoughtful, generous, and humble to a surprising degree. He has borne the ultimate heartache with grace, actively taken care of both our parents, shared what he has, and is raising wonderful young adults with Cathy.

There are so many more memories I could share about his ninja-type humor, his love of family and his quiet, innate goodness. But simply put, I believe there are angels that walk the earth. I also believe I am lucky enough to be related to one.

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Mike. Or Mick, as Dad would call him. I guess he’s even answered to MO at a job where there were three Mike’s, but he’d have to share that with me, so…no.

Mike was born with red hair and eyes of wonder. Literally, I’m not sure when he grew into them, but he always had the most questioning eyes as a child. Being number 10 in the crowd, it should be no surprise to learn that they had his birthday wrong for the first 11 years of his life. It wasn’t discovered until Dad tried to enroll him into Little League where the minimum age was 12. The guy doing the sign-up said he couldn’t join because his birthday wasn’t until the 29th. Dad said, no, it was just last week on the 19th. The guy said, uh, no, look here at his birth certificate. Mm-hmm, yeah.

It didn’t really seem to phase him, though. He still grew up happy and healthy, tall and athletic, playing b’ball in high school. At college, he met Therese, who coincidentally was also the 10th of 11 kids. To say they’re a match made in heaven would be an understatement.

Mike has a very dry sense of humor and can pull off a practical joke with the seriousness of a Jedi. He convinced me once he used to have the exact same nightmare that I did, even seeming to explain his so similarly to mine. I have yet to know for sure if he actually did or if he’s just pulling my leg. He’s a master, with a winning smile on an Irish mug, a sweetheart of a guy.

Probably one of my favorite things about Mike is the way he seems interested in you and yours. He’ll ask specific questions and really listen to the answer, engaging and affirming. He also gave us another Charlie O’Connor. Not a bad move, Mick.

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Dan, D-doy or, as Dad liked to call him, ‘Dandy,’ is the youngest of the Lucky 11, 18 years younger than me, a generation younger than his oldest brother. He was the sweetest little curly red-haired toddler, and people thought he was mine when I took him out. And I took him out often. I never corrected them.

Mom was so careful with her youngest. He was slight of build, so she constantly worried he would hurt himself or get swept up in the waves or have any number of childhood calamities befall him. But when he was perhaps 3 years old, she left him behind at the laundromat in the small town where they lived, not realizing it until she stopped at the drug store. Quickly racing back there, she found him sitting quietly, waiting. He loved cars, and at the age of 4 had his own way of describing vehicles, referring to them not as ‘truck’ or ‘car,’ but as ‘stick, lift, pop’ (stick shift with lift door handles and pop-up door locks), or ‘shift, pull’ (automatic with pull-out door handles). I would see him at my little VW bug spit-shining it till the area gleamed.

Danny took some time to grow into himself, or so it seemed to me. Quiet in school with one or two close friends, he had some tough acts to follow with his immediate older siblings. But rather than compete, Dan watched and learned and decided on his own to be his own. He was a quiet, creative, very sweet kid who grew into a quiet, steady, hard worker. He chose to work in the trades and will have one heckuva pension when he’s through. He dated on and off and eventually met the love of his life, Sunny, who could not be a better match for him. They both have a very quirky sense of humor and can read each other’s minds, or at least one would think so. Danny had no children of his own, but with Sunny’s baby granddaughter, he discovered what it means to love a child unconditionally.

Danny is my steady-Eddie. He is loving and loyal, easy to talk to, trustworthy and non-judgmental. He has a contagious grin and crazy quick one-liners, if you can listen fast enough to understand him. I feel kind of bad for Danny, in a way. Being the youngest means being around as your older siblings age and pass. I don’t envy any of the ‘second’ family that place. But we’re all pretty tight, and there will always be support no matter what place you are.

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