A few weeks back, my son texted me:
I found my pub.
This is said with the kind of reverence reserved for sacred places. No, drinking isn’t sacred, although communion certainly includes wine, but rather, there is this connection that you feel in your bones.
I’m where I belong. I’ve found my people.
He met a friend there the day before and wanted to come back on his own. It’s called The Reporter, which was exactly the vibe he was looking for. All decor relates to TV and print news with newspapers in frames around the main bar where a half dozen barstools and three small tables reside (and of course the telly in the corner for watching sports). Deeper into the narrow space are two small tables and the holy grail of the Irish pub, an intimate snug that seats four.
He sat there after class with a pint of Guinness and Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist. People chatted with him in a way that wasn’t happening on campus or at his favorite coffee shop. Here were his people, to which I inferred down-to-earth, working class, non-judgmental people.
I’d like you to meet my pub
When I went to Belfast next, we planned a day that ended at the pub.
The first time we went, it was early enough in the day that we were the only two there. The publican immediately asked, “is this your Mum,” which elicited a moment of pleasure, both the recognition that he had been there before and the recognition that he and I were so obviously family. My son nodded the affirmative, so the publican said, “this one here is a troublemaker.”
In my house, that’s a good thing, as it implies “good trouble.”
When you have family business to discuss, you don’t do it for everyone to hear. When you have serious business to discuss in an Irish pub, the kind of thing not meant for the table next to you, you use the snug. It’s a carved out space that builds distance, not unfriendly but private.
The next time I visited Belfast with him, we had finished our serious discussions so we went to the pub for fun. We pre-gamed (his term) at a nearby restaurant that sold drinks by the pitcher and then headed to the pub. We ordered and took a table in the front. We were the first there, but as the working day came to a close, business picked up, and I got to see the joy of a pub.
The tables are close, narrow, and meant for promoting conversation. All three front tables filled and refilled. Two elder couples on a double date came and sat behind us before going to the show. Graduate students from Queens argued philosophically on the other side. Working men lined the barstools and drank Guinness while watching the World Cup. I watched a man well into his cups approach the man at the end of the bar, wrap an arm over his shoulders, and say to no one and everyone, “this is my best mate in the world.”
Who wouldn’t love a place where it’s okay to lay claim to a friendship in such a public and heartfelt manner?
My son and I went through several rounds, alternating to find our “favorite” to have in his pub, and on his way back from ordering another round, he brought back a deck of cards kept at the bar for patrons to use.
Who wouldn’t love a place that encourages you to sit down and play a hand of cards? No need to hurry. Get comfortable and stay awhile.
I came from a family that always played cards, which I’ll talk about tomorrow, and I’ve passed that to my kids. So we sat at the pub and played Rummy and Kings in the Corner while people who knew each other (based on the familiar banter) came and went. I don’t think I’ve laughed that much in one night for what feels like eons. In the end, that’s the value of a pub. It was connecting with my son in a public and friendly place where we felt surrounded by a warmth that had nothing to do with temperature.
We could all use more of that.
Join me on my journey. I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’ll end up. This time, that was all the fun.
I love that he found his pub!