Bon Mot

I ran into Patrick yesterday in McDonalds sporting a new lid. Just another sign that he was healing back into himself. He related a tale of verbal jousting with the "powers that be" that further confirmed this fact. 
A police officer stopped his car earlier in the week. Following standard protocol, the officer queried, "Do you know why I stopped you?" Patrick responded, "Sexual attraction?"

Iron Man is bounding back!

Some May even call it Brutal.

My dad was brutally honest about everything. A few years ago when he got a bad report from his doctor saying that the cancer was in his spine, my dad called and we had the following conversation:
Dad: "Well, Kelly. That's it. I'm gonna die. Cancer is in my spine and that's it."
Me: Crying. "No, dad I don't want you to die."
Dad: "It's ok. You had a hard time getting started with your life, and better me, than you."
Me: "I don't think so, dad. I don't want you to die." Me still crying.
Dad: "I can't listen to you cry any more. Can you go call your mother so she can console you?"
And then he hung up.

Golden Boy vs. Black Sheep

Driving back last night, I was trying to wrap my mind around a couple things. 

The first of which was how my Aunt Shannon actually thought she might screw up my niece's computer by logging on to caringbridge.org using her own email address on a computer that was not hers. Ummm.....I am sure you were just kidding....right? Please tell me? Right? 

The second idea...was much more complex. All families with multiple children have to know exactly what I am talking about here..... Quinlan kids....3 boys, 1 princess...whoops...sorry Quinner that slipped! 

In every family...there is a "chosen one". Now, bear in mind, this "chosen one" is not necessarily chosen by the parents, but this is a perception that siblings must have in order to properly rank their importance in the herd. Brother Patrick perceived me as the golden boy. 

To this day, it baffles me. I mean, sure, my folks paid for my college, allowed me to travel the world on their dime, helped me buy my first house and my second house, and "gave" me a canoe livery. But aside from that, I got no preferential treatment. All the while, Patrick was raising babies. Three young ladies...on his own. Times were very tough for Patrick, I know, I used to drive by his house....and slow down. It looked TOUGH! 

This path in life created a natural "edge" between us. At times, it became very intense. 

In 1988 we received a "Christmas in July" check from my Grandmother Margaret. My father, Patrick and I all ended up at Fred's bar in Roscommon. It was a joyous occasion, with lots of laughter, beer, and shots. Amidst all this joy, I decided to confront Patrick about an old debt. The details of this debt are not important, suffice it to say he "totally boned me" on a utility bill that he set up at his house in my name! I knew he had the cash in his pocket to cover it. I demanded payment. He reached in his pocket, and pulled out a fist full of NOTHING and said, "this is exactly what you're getting from me....tonight."

SECONDS later, there we were, in the parking lot, battling like only true brothers could. YEARS of frustration being laid out on the pavement. My father was in a state of shock, powerless to stop the EMOTIONALLY charged battle. I was tough as hell back in those days...Patrick was much tougher! 

When the dust settled, and cops rolled in, Patrick climbed off of me. He looked me right in the eyes and said, "I could have killed you golden boy...but I didn't."

I would give ANYTHING to have that battle with you again, Black Sheep. 

Anything! (and if I have to let you win again....I will!) 

GB 

Brian Quinlan

Caddy Shack

Written Sep 15, 2011 9:01am

 I have to go all the way back to 1980 for this story...

My brothers and I got jobs as caddies at Orchard Lake Country Club down in Oakland county.

I was pretty focused on the gig, carrying as many bags as I could, and working towards buying a new Mongoose BMX bike. It took only a few months, and I was promoted to Honor Caddy, which allowed me some freedoms, and big tips that many others could only dream about. Patrick was not all that impressed, and enjoyed his B caddy status. Most of his days were spent at the caddy shack (not on the course!). He was our comedic relief, and was constantly involved in some sort of caddy mischief. Our Caddy Master was a guy named Kirk Heart. He was a complete ass in every sense of the word. Obviously he and Patrick had very different goals for Patrick!

Caddy "golf day" every Monday was huge in terms of fun, as we had the entire course to ourselves. Patrick, not being a golfer (and barely a caddy!), remained pretty uninvolved. I made the mistake of golfing with a caddy buddy of mine who had been suspended for "un-caddy like behavior". Upon hearing the news on the following Tuesday morning, I was fired. At 15 and desperately devoted to overachieving, I was absolutely crushed. I went back to the Caddy Shack, and reported the news to Patrick. I remember the look in his eyes, and saw it years later in the eyes of William Wallace in the movie Brave Heart. There were about 20-30 guys sitting around us in the shack, all waiting for our absolutely fearless leader to make his decision. As tears welled up in my eyes,  fire welled up in Patrick's heart. Two fist pounds on the table later, he started his walk down the hill towards Kirk Heart, in the Caddy Master shack. We followed. Patrick out front, and an even larger crowd growing behind him.

A small part of me wanted to warn Kirk of what was coming, but this was truly out of my hands, and firmly in Patrick's. As Kirk stepped out of that little box he worked in, I remember him looking so small and insignificant. From Caddy Master to weasel in an instant.

As we all stood in awe, we listened to Patrick verbally destroy him (he had obviously been practicing his cussing intertwined with anatomy), his attack was both relentless and brilliant. This culminated in approximately 40 of us CHEERING AND CLAPPING WILDLY!!!!!!!!

As the dust settled, William Patrick Wallace Quinlan walked slowly into the sunrise. Now jobless, without any money in his pocket, but oh so wealthy with principle, integrity and glory.

I was completely amazed by his fearless leadership that morning. I still am.

I shook his hand as he walked out of the Caddy Shack, I could not thank him enough for defending his brother in such fine fashion. 

Of course, I waited about 15 minutes before I walked down the hill and begged Kirk for my job back.

Looking back now, I think they had those caddy rankings all out of whack. Oh, we did have an Honor Caddy in the family, but it wasn't me.

love, B-caddy

Brian Quinlan

Inter State Party

The jury is still out, but at this point it looks like a coordinated effort from four states. Graduation, Good Bye, Reunion, and No Reason at all, are reason enough to party. Tampa on the bay is the place to play. Part of my responsibilities for this event in 

November are to work on the music. The word out of Tampa is a boat party. Colleen pictured this boat for me, but I am still uncertain as to its availability for the week of the party. 
It turned out the boat was unavailable, but it didn't make no never mind with our party signature song intact.

 

Chase Boat

[note: after Patrick's motorcycle accident last September, I was incredibly worried, scouring facebook for a status update, photo or any hopeful news at all. Thankfully, someone initiated an online care journal where Patrick's progress and encouraging thoughts could be added and shared. Brian wrote several entries that made me understand what laughing and crying simultaneously felt like. - CQ]

Written Sep 13, 2011 12:54pm

I remember a few years back when you decided that you were going to paddle the straights of Mackinac. After some discussions about your plan, and your route, I suggested you get a "chase boat" ...just in case someone was to flip or experience some unexpected challenge.

You said, "I don't need any effin' chase boat!" and you were correct. You and your crew made it with little difficulty. Perfect day...perfect friends...perfect experience.

This term is just stuck in my mind today. Chase boat. 

There have been hundreds, if not thousands, of times you have affected others and helped them through a difficult time by being their chase boat. You, my brother, don't need a chase boat, because you ARE a chase boat. You will be needed again and again to fill this role for your friends and family....we are here for you now, and we know you will be there for us in the future!

(I did peel a $20 out of your fanny pack at the hospital. You said you would pay me back this week - you did!)

 Brian Quinlan

Don't Take Your Guns to Thompsons

When the Quinlan Clan first moved to town, Keego  Harbor to be exact, the main game with our new neighbors directly across from our house was kick the can. The equipment wasn't expensive and easy to replace if it was damaged. Joseph William (Joe) was in elementary school at the time.

Further down the street lived the Thompsons. Being an adventurer, Joe would walk down the road and play with them, even though they were somewhat older. One summer day, when Joe was walking back, it appeared something had run amuck, perhaps foul play. Cowboy guns were twisted around, hair messed up, but still singing a Johnny Cash tune he loved:

  Don't take your guns to Thompsons
  Leave your guns at home Bill 

His lyrics were skewed, but the meaning 
clear.

JD

Butch (John David) was an original. No birthday, no anniversary today, just a little story.  Once, driving through the city of Pontiac, we were stopped at a red light. Three well dressed, pretty ladies, were on that same corner. They were very intent on watching the light change above their heads so they could hurry across the street. When the light changed, they bolted. Butch, in one fluid movement, opened his door, and leaned his seat forward. Two of them tumbled in the back seat and immediately started to laugh. A few jokes later, they were on their way, released on their own cognizance, but with an altered view of the urban landscape.

G2 Iron Man

Patrick reappeared with an apocalyptic aura. Walking the streets of town, black staff in hand, backpack in place, determination etched on his face, surfacing as though  a coma of one hundred and eleven days hadn't slowed his pace. 

When I caught up to him at the farmers market, it was as Knute Rockne would testify, "Back to the Basics". He was so thankful for his family, and everyone's prayers. Farther on, he went on to describe how he saw his mother and a Carpenter during these 111 days. When he asked the Carpenter a question, the Carpenter just nodded at the ocean. As his dad explained earlier, "Patrick has been places we'll never be."

B.Q.'s Birthday

I just found this and decided to repost it. I realize his birthday was a month ago, but he never paid much attention to timelines, so I think this is ok.
Kelly

He is known to many as B.Q., Tubby, or Duke.
And to three of us, he's known as dad.

Happy Birthday Dad.

Thank you for raising me with the grit to get through this. I have cried a lot over the last few months, and I really miss our talks, and our phone conversations while I drove to work. And some days, I don't feel strong at all. I feel ill equipped to take on one more day.

But then I remember how you're pain free now. Served your country that in my opinion, didn't return the favor. But you didn't even wait to be drafted. You ran in, while others did their best to run away.

And I thank you for your service. Vietnam did what it could to wreck you, and you spent the rest of your life picking up those pieces, when I'm sure it would have been easier to run.

Here's a few things I want to share with you today.

1. I came to work today. I really wanted to stay home. Or huddle up on a bar stool. I can't promise I won't do that later. But, you'd never begrudge any one a good time, so I know you understand.

2. I appreciate you never making anything cliche. Instead of calling me your little girl, you always called me your little goil. And you're the only person who ever called me goil.

3. Thanks for giving me your wit, your humor.

4. Thank you for the sharing the gift of your story telling.

5. Thanks for the large Irish family that just won't go away. :) Even when you tell them you want to be alone, and just can't make this year's family reunion.

6. Thank you for our amazing nuclear family. A fantastically quirky, artistic and fun mom, who raised us to be good people, and two brothers who would kick any one's ass, who tried to harm me in any way. And to you, for always insisiting your kids were polite, well groomed, and well mannered.

7. Thank you for sending me to grad school which lead me to this job. A job that lets me show up later than most, and while here, I'm paid to write. Sure, I'm writing in a blog right now, instead of writing about Lincoln, but it's because of you that I'm here.

8. Thank you for the tea parties. That's a special dad that will sit with his daughter and drink gallons of imaginary tea.

9. Thank you for all the generous gifts over the years. It was never about the material items for you. I know you just loved to share the wealth, after growing up poor, you wanted your children to have nice things.

10. Thank you for instilling in me, a sense of survival. Perhaps ironic writing that on your first posthumous birthday, but it's true. You survived Vietnam and seven years of cancer. I think that fighting spirit, was passed down to me.

As a baby born at just over six months, doctors all said I would die.
I remember you telling me the story a few years ago.
How you wanted to give me a name, Kelly Rose, so that I would know that somebody was figthing for me.

The torch has been passed. I'm fighting to win the grief battle every day.

Happy Birthday to the original fighter.
The Might Quinn, indeed.

Your loving daughter,
Kelly Rose.

Every great car...

...deserves a photo shoot:

Caveat

Brian quit drinking for seventeen years. Quite an accomplishment for anyone, but the triple crown for anyone of Irish extraction. During this time period, he was pulled over by a police officer who wished to know why he had swerved on the road. Satisfied, after questioning, that he wasn't drinking, the officer asked one final confirming question, "Can I look in the cooler" which lay in the back of the pickup truck. "Sure",  Brian said knowing what it contained, and added, "Would you mind bringing me up a water when you're back there?" The officer was miffed, but complied.

The officer, through no fault of his own, had apparently missed one of Hope's debriefings to the final quadrant of the dozen she raised. "Beware of born again Christians and recovering alcoholics."

Pa's Car

Grandpa showed up in the early afternoon to visit Hope and Bill and discuss farming. They never seemed pleased to see him. Grandma would head for the house and Grandpa would head for the milk house. I don't know what they talked about, but they pointed at different fields. Grandpa seemed to know a lot about fertilizer, seeds, and horses. Bill hated horses. They never stayed 'til dark because Grandpa didn't trust the lights on the '37 Ford and Croswell was a country far away without a license to get there. When Grandpa started his car he held the accelerator to the floor. As the car filled up with blue smoke, He would slowly ease the clutch out, partially. He was slow to embrace technology. The Ford garage in Croswell had an engine in stock for him and would install a new one every year. We kids stood as close as we could waving goodbye, hoping he would come back. Hope and Bill would return to their tasks.

- Mike