My siblings, part III (of III)
Jul. 10th, 2003 12:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jawnbcI give you Thomas Andrew Xavier Egan. Tommy to many,
He likes to drop his pants in public. Or at least he used--it's been a while since he's done it around me. For years we'd be out at Connolly's (a great Oirish/surf rat pub in Rockaway), whooping it up, drinking and shouting and blathering on. Then someone would gasp--"holy shit, that guys' taken his dick out!"
And without so much as a glance, we'd say, "yeah. Tommy."
After about a hundred times it's not particularly noteworthy. Even with a big personality. Ahem.
Tommy has spirit, and he's a total extrovert. He loves nothing more than organizing gatherings (family, friends, colleagues), and putting himself right smack in the middle of it. When the post-modern wankers of the world coined the term performativity, they probably had Tomby in mind--he' s almost always on.
Almost always
But Tom's also hyper-sensitive, particularly to injustice. Growing up, his mantra was "it's not fair." And he's never shied away from fighting for what he believes in. He's inherited his mother's passion and his father's toughness. So it's not surprising he followed in Da's footsteps and became a NYC cop. Thankfully he retired last year--the horrors of 2001 had him filing his pension papers the first day possible (yeah, he was there). Retired at 41, but not jobless: Tom's begun a career in private investigations and from all reports he's doing quite well at it.
In 1986 Tom married Theresa; they now have three wonderful daughters--Caitlyn (my gawddaughter), Casey and Christina. Tom's an awesome dad and husband.
Sometimes Tommy's enthusiasm and generosity can get the better of him. When he was 16, he got his driver's license and took me for a spin that very day. Wanting to be a kewl older bro (there's 18 months between us), he encouraged me to give the wheel a spin. 10 feet later I'd mowed down a mailbox, in the ritzy part of town. We panicked, he jumped back in the driver's seat and we sped home.
The cops got there before we did--there were easily 10 witnesses, did we really think none would get our license plate #? How stoopid is that? Rather then get into double jeopardy (by admitting his 14 year old brother was driving), Tommy took the heat and paid for the mailbox. Years later, we told Ma the truth--and it's one of the few things she never sussed out.
When I was 15 I started working at McDonalds, where Tom, Mike and Kathleen all already worked. On my second shift, I was nauseated to find a fly floating in the apple pie fryer. Tommy, ever the big brother, tried to use a piece of cardboard to fish it out. "I get the idea--lemme do it," and I started trying to grab it. Then I heard a crackling noise--my hand had slipped into the oil and was frying. Tommy quickly got my hand out of the oil (I froze), and got me to the sink in the back of the restaurant. "That's fookin gross," was his insightful comment. From what I can remember--I was already puking in the garbage bin.
I could go on and on about Tomby: his dark sense of humour, the fact we're the same height and have the same nose, how we transitioned from kid brothers who got up one another's noses to men who can wholly rely upon one another...but I can't capture it all in one posting.
But make no mistakes, I love Tommy. I'm blessed to have him as a brother and a friend.
.
Here's me and Tom on Grouse Mountain in Vancouver (November 2002)
He likes to drop his pants in public. Or at least he used--it's been a while since he's done it around me. For years we'd be out at Connolly's (a great Oirish/surf rat pub in Rockaway), whooping it up, drinking and shouting and blathering on. Then someone would gasp--"holy shit, that guys' taken his dick out!"
And without so much as a glance, we'd say, "yeah. Tommy."
After about a hundred times it's not particularly noteworthy. Even with a big personality. Ahem.
Tommy has spirit, and he's a total extrovert. He loves nothing more than organizing gatherings (family, friends, colleagues), and putting himself right smack in the middle of it. When the post-modern wankers of the world coined the term performativity, they probably had Tomby in mind--he' s almost always on.
Almost always
But Tom's also hyper-sensitive, particularly to injustice. Growing up, his mantra was "it's not fair." And he's never shied away from fighting for what he believes in. He's inherited his mother's passion and his father's toughness. So it's not surprising he followed in Da's footsteps and became a NYC cop. Thankfully he retired last year--the horrors of 2001 had him filing his pension papers the first day possible (yeah, he was there). Retired at 41, but not jobless: Tom's begun a career in private investigations and from all reports he's doing quite well at it.
In 1986 Tom married Theresa; they now have three wonderful daughters--Caitlyn (my gawddaughter), Casey and Christina. Tom's an awesome dad and husband.
Sometimes Tommy's enthusiasm and generosity can get the better of him. When he was 16, he got his driver's license and took me for a spin that very day. Wanting to be a kewl older bro (there's 18 months between us), he encouraged me to give the wheel a spin. 10 feet later I'd mowed down a mailbox, in the ritzy part of town. We panicked, he jumped back in the driver's seat and we sped home.
The cops got there before we did--there were easily 10 witnesses, did we really think none would get our license plate #? How stoopid is that? Rather then get into double jeopardy (by admitting his 14 year old brother was driving), Tommy took the heat and paid for the mailbox. Years later, we told Ma the truth--and it's one of the few things she never sussed out.
When I was 15 I started working at McDonalds, where Tom, Mike and Kathleen all already worked. On my second shift, I was nauseated to find a fly floating in the apple pie fryer. Tommy, ever the big brother, tried to use a piece of cardboard to fish it out. "I get the idea--lemme do it," and I started trying to grab it. Then I heard a crackling noise--my hand had slipped into the oil and was frying. Tommy quickly got my hand out of the oil (I froze), and got me to the sink in the back of the restaurant. "That's fookin gross," was his insightful comment. From what I can remember--I was already puking in the garbage bin.
I could go on and on about Tomby: his dark sense of humour, the fact we're the same height and have the same nose, how we transitioned from kid brothers who got up one another's noses to men who can wholly rely upon one another...but I can't capture it all in one posting.
But make no mistakes, I love Tommy. I'm blessed to have him as a brother and a friend.
.
Here's me and Tom on Grouse Mountain in Vancouver (November 2002)
