Nonetheless, I don’t feel guilty about many of the road-rage and other small incidents I have been involved in over the years. Most of them deserved it. The ones I hurt were big, capable men who were being aggressive and they were looking for trouble. Even at my most violent, I have always retained a sense of right and wrong. I haven’t hurt women, or people who are clearly smaller and weaker than me. I would never hurt a man with children in his car.
About two years after Jo and I got together, our eldest son Harley was born. I remember the moment of his birth. I remember his first smile as if it was yesterday; I will always remember that. Now we have another son, Archie, just as lovely as his older brother.
Harley’s birth was the most important moment in my life because it was the start of a whole new chapter and a series of fantastic beginnings. Not only did I have a wonderful new son, but I had been given the opportunity to live my childhood all over again. But this time I would be living it through my own children, and I would be in a position to ensure that nothing bad would ever happen to destroy what is supposed to be the very best part of someone’s life. When Harley took his first breath, I went in an instant from being a man who had always felt that he had nothing to lose, to a new, vulnerable creature I did not recognise: the man who has everything to lose. This feeling of vulnerability, and the knowledge that I have the power to give my children the lives they deserve, or screw their lives up, was almost as overwhelming as the waves of love that I felt for my newborn son. I had never thought that I was capable of such deep, all-encompassing love. Now, as I see my kids listen to and absorb every word I say, I often feel overwhelmed by the whole thing. At last, in my mid-forties, I have had to find a new way of being a man, and not the frightened little child that I have been for most of my life. Most of the time, I am not that child, but I know that he will never completely leave me, and that I will take him to my grave with me.
Since I became a father, I have become a different person. There are days when I look in the mirror and fail to recognise the man looking back at me. Who is that guy with the gentle expression and the remains of the baby’s breakfast drying on his shoulder? Surely that can’t be me!
New parents are always inundated with advice, and most of it is easy to forget, but I received one piece of advice that I will always remember. It came from a friend of mine, who had been a fellow doorman with me years earlier. He came to visit baby Harley when he was just a little scrap and after he had admired him he took me aside and said, ‘Look in the mirror, because if you don’t like what you see you need to change it because your kids will become you. If you have a road-rage incident, your kid will grow up to experience road rage; if you scream and shout, your kid will scream and shout. You want to look in the mirror and stop the behaviour you don’t want your kid to emulate.’
As my children get older, I am more and more aware of how much they learn by imitating their parents, and how much they idolise them. It is daunting, but it also makes me determined to do and be the very best that I can all the time so that, when my children imitate me, they are imitating the sort of person I want them to grow up to be. I certainly don’t want either of them to be anything like the man I used to be.
Since my children were born, I don’t hate any more, or at least I don’t hate like I used to. It isn’t in me, although I sometimes feel it in a slightly absent way as amputees are said to feel a missing limb. The only way I can explain it is by saying that I used to blame my life on everybody else, and didn’t take responsibility for my own actions. When Harley was born, I realised that I had to be responsible for my own actions and that life wasn’t all bad; not now that I was the father of this wonderful child and the partner of this wonderful woman. Best of all, I am not a bad father. I am not the bad example that I feared I would be and I have never once even come close to lashing out in anger. I am a good father who takes care of his children and I see their love for me in their eyes as they must see mine for them. Now, if someone is aggressive to me when I am driving, I ignore them. I ignore them when the children are in the car, and I even ignore them when they are not. Ten years after that eventful flight to Florida, I went over with Harley and Jo, but this time I was the father in one of the nice families on the plane, on my way to Disneyworld. And nothing went wrong.
When my children were born, I also lost whatever feelings I had for my parents. They had always been strangers to me, but they had also been spectres whose absence haunted my life. For a long time, I had harboured deep feelings of great bitterness for my mother, for having abandoned me and for having refused to let me be adopted by anyone else. Now, I feel nothing for her at all. Nothing. As a parent, I can’t understand how my mother and father were able to give me and the rest of their children up. I would never let anyone take my babies. I know for myself how deep and strong and primitive the instincts of a parent are, and should be. My mother is still alive. The last time I spoke to her was over thirty years ago, and at that time she blamed everyone but herself for the fact that our family had been broken and destroyed. She is lying, of course. I could be angry but I can’t even feel that any more, and I have no intention of ever trying to establish contact. When she left me out with the rubbish, she stole my sense of identity and self-worth and it has taken me the rest of my life to get them back.
However, after becoming a parent, I finally decided to address the issue of my own identity and sense of self, much more for my children’s sake than for my own, because I do not want them to grow up without roots and lost the way I did. After years of not wanting anything to do with matters related to my biological family, I finally decided to go to Ireland and see the home of our ancestors in Kilkieran, Connemara. My father had died on 23 April 2005 and his dying wish had been to be buried in his home village. Those children of his who had retained some contact with him had honoured his wishes.
I had not seen my father for thirty years and I had not gone to his funeral. Why go to the funeral of someone you don’t know? I didn’t feel that I had anything or anyone to mourn. Now, I left Jo and Harley at home, flew to Ireland and made my way to Connemara and the local graveyard to say goodbye in my own way, if not to my father himself then to the father I had never had.
At first, I couldn’t find my father’s grave in the small cemetery because there were so many Connollys buried there. Eventually, I found it. I was completely taken aback by my reaction to the small, tidy grave. I had expected to feel nothing. Instead, I just fell to my knees and cried as I had not cried for years; big racking sobs that made my body shake all over. I cried like a baby, snot dripping from my nose and mingling with the thick, hot tears that poured from my eyes. I didn’t understand why I was crying, because my father had always been a stranger to me. Looking back now, perhaps the fact that he was a stranger was the source of my tears. I couldn’t stop. I cried for what seemed like hours. There had been a caretaker pottering about cleaning up the cemetery, and he made a discreet exit so as to give me some privacy.
‘I’ll come back later,’ he said as he passed me. I couldn’t say anything.
When I had cried my tears dry, I left.
Kilkieran is still full of family, and they welcomed me into their homes as if they had known me all their lives. It was extraordinary being with warm, welcoming people to whom I bore a strong physical resemblance, knowing that, if circumstances had been different, they could always have been part of my life. If my parents had never left Connemara, I might still be there, living in a similar bungalow, working in a local factory or shop. Few if any of my relatives seemed to know much about my family. But they all knew that I was the seventh son of a seventh son, and the old traditions are still very much alive in Connemara. Every time I went to a house afterwards, everyone wanted to hug me and shake my hand and they treated me as though I was lucky and charmed. They also truly believed that I had been blessed with the power of healing, and that I could cure whatever was wrong with them just by touching them with my hands.
I went to lo
ok at the family home into which most of my siblings had been born. It was in a modest but pleasant council estate dominated by a huge statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Two middle-aged men were sitting outside the house next door and I asked them if they had known the Connollys.
‘Oh, for sure I remember the Connollys,’ one of them said. ‘I used to play with Matthew. He was about my best mate when we were four or five, and then the whole family moved to London.’
If my parents had never left for London, we would all have grown up in Ireland. But it is never too late to work on a relationship, and I am determined that my little boys will know about their heritage and their extended family in Connemara.
Back home, when the children are out with Jo, I sometimes go and stand in their bedrooms. Ours is an ordinary, middle-class suburban home in Essex. To a lot of people, it would probably look like quite a run-of-the-mill house. But to me, it is a palace and the most beautiful place I know. Our children’s rooms are clean and nicely furnished and filled with toys. Their windows look out on to green lawns and orderly houses filled with decent, respectable, ordinary families who care for their kids and do their best for them.
Sometimes I try to tell Harley how lucky he is, how good his life is and how wonderful it is that he has nothing to worry about. He can’t even begin to understand what I am trying to tell him, because to him a life without fear or hunger or anxiety is natural and normal and right. Being able to provide an ordinary, safe childhood to my sons is the one thing that I am the most proud of.
I look at Harley, my first born. He is tall and strong, intelligent and sensitive. He can already read better than I can, and he exudes confidence. I see him with his mother, Jo, and watch how patient, gentle and kind she is with him. It makes me wonder how I would have been if I had been properly fed and clothed and, more importantly, cared for and loved by a parent who wanted me. One of the proudest moments in my life was when Harley, aged five, was voted ‘class councillor’ by his teacher and classmates. As he and Archie grow up, they will be able to become whatever they want to be, because they will know that they are loved, and that they have always been wanted. I will never understand why my parents allowed themselves to bring into the world eight children they did not want and did not love.
Thankfully, my children have helped me to become the better man I always wished I was. Much as I do for them, they have done so much more for me. Everything I give them is returned to me in spades.
Providing a safe, stable home for my children also means keeping my psychological issues in check every day. I know that I still have a real obsessive-compulsive disorder, and that I probably always will. I’m well aware of it, so I control it. This is one of my legacies from growing up in care. Because I never feel that I am capable of doing things properly, I check and check again. My house is very tidy, orderly and neat, and I cannot abide it if it gets messed up. The doors all have to be locked and all the lights that should be turned off are turned off. When I am stressed, my OCD reaches unhealthy levels, but most of the time I manage to keep it in check. Personally, I would see my OCD as my safety valve. Because I always want every thing to be in control to an extreme degree, I have never been attracted to alcohol or drugs in the slightest. They just aren’t my thing.
Today, I am a very happy man and I know that I have a lot to be grateful for. But I am very aware of the fear and rage that are just beneath my surface all the time. I will never be able to sit with my back to the door. I will always have to work very hard to manage not to lash out when someone disrespects me or gets in my way. When I come home in the evening, I lock the doors and then check and check again that they are still locked. I get up at night to check another time. I know that these are things that I will always have to do.
Like most parents, I have realised that my life is not about me any more. It isn’t even about whether I like myself or not. Deep down, I still don’t like who I am, because I know the depths that I am capable of and I know how vicious and relentless I can be. There is still bad in me. But that is no longer of any consequence. I have even reached the stage where I can see that blame is no longer helpful. At this stage in my life, does it really matter whose fault the whole sorry mess is? I could blame my mother for abandoning me at two weeks old or the state for not vetting people and allowing child abusers and paedophiles to bring us up. But it doesn’t make any difference any more. I just hope that today’s rejects are being treated better. Some of the clients I work with are social workers. I have asked them if abuse still goes on and if children are better protected, and they assure me that things are not as bad as they once were. I really hope that is true. But I know from my own experience that if children have no sense of identity and no sense of self-worth then any attempts to protect them amount to pissing into the wind.
What I want for my children is for them to be in a position to choose what to do with their own lives. They are bright and they are going to be educated. They will never be attracted to door work or security jobs or the dark side of the street because they will have a thousand other, more attractive options. I am not going to try to live through them, but I am determined for them to have the tools they need to have wonderful, fulfilling lives. I also know that I have to be a good example; that there can be no effing and blinding when someone aggravates me while I am driving or walking around town. I know better than most that children are influenced in every way possible by the things that they see going on around them. I want Harley and Archie to be influenced for the best.
As I have grown older, I have realised that I am not the person I thought I was. I did what I had to do to survive, but, far from being tough and vicious, I am actually quite a sensitive bloke. Don’t get me wrong though. If anyone tries to hurt me or mine, I wouldn’t think twice…
But, whenever I start to doubt myself or think that life is shit, all I have to do is look into my children’s beautiful, open, trusting eyes. Then I tell myself, ‘My life isn’t that bad. My life is great! I’m not jinxed. I’m not cursed. I don’t need to hate.’
And – against all odds – I have proven ‘Auntie Coral’ wrong.
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First published in paperback in 2010
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
1 Growing Up Bad
2 School Days
3 All in the Family
4 Rough Boy
5 The Day I Died
6 Getting Serious
7 The Ladies of the Night
8 Personal Trainer to the Stars
9 Flying High
10 Grievous Bodily Harm
11 The Mapperton Case
12 The Close Call
13 Moving On and Growing Up
14 My Happy Ending
Copyright
Against All Odds: The Most Amazing True Life Story You'll Ever Read Page 19