The Story of Sean
In the early morning hours of the 22nd day of May in the year 1967 a baby boy was brought into this world in the frigid coastal town of Carbonear Newfoundland. Except for an abundance of fine long black hair, the child appeared to be completely normal at first and his parents named him Sean. Like all proud parents, they were thrilled with their new progeny and all the great potential that lay before him. They believed he was special and it wasn't long before the young lad would prove them right.
Within a fortnight, the baby was bellowing sea shantys from his little wooden crib. Lusty songs of loose women and pirates and barrels of Jamaican black rum. The first time parents were alarmed. It was not that the boy sang badly. It was just that he had the salty mouth of a sailor. So offensive were his utterances they had to glue his pacifier to his gums during his christening for fear of what he might say to the priest.
His first steps came in the form of a jig as he tapped and twirled his way across the kitchen floor towards his father's liquor cabinet where he proceeded to neck a flask of whiskey before anyone could stop him. It was his first good night’s sleep.
Shaken by the experience, the now very concerned parents sought the counsel of their elders who advised finding the child a hobby before he did any real harm to himself. Music perhaps?
Being of limited means, the only instrument they could afford was the lowly Bodhran; an ancient Irish drum fashioned from the hide of a goat and beaten with a stick. Sean loved it. He spent his days singing and dancing and battering away until he passed out in his bed at night exhausted. He was a very happy child.
And he still is.