Men, Memories, and Moms

Looking back on our lives is like viewing old photos in a family album. We touch a memory, relive an emotion, or recall an old story – and once more the connection is made. We are taken back in time; and yet we view the memory through the lens of the experiences the events of our past have set in motion. As men, we draw a lot of strength from those memories, and the ones who passed them onto us. Our strength of Christian character comes in part from the lessons our loved ones have left for us to hold.

For Mother’s Day this May, I wanted to share some thoughts about my mother and the love and memories she passed onto her children, particularly about her time in South Bend, Indiana where she grew up in the shadow of Notre Dame University. Her experiences speak so well to the call of mothers to teach the secrets of salvation to their children through lives lived in pursuit of meaning, grace, and heartfelt devotion to those things that truly matter.

While very few people from Notre Dame would today remember my mother, Rose McCann, it is through her and her extraordinary history that our family connects with the university – and not just with a football team or a college, but with the soul of the school and those who were a part of it. The spirit of those blessed times remains so powerfully present to our hearts because of how it shaped my mother. She taught us the values she learned from her time in South Bend at Notre Dame, and passed on to us a deep and lasting love for the Fighting Irish and the values of tradition, family, and faith that continue to this day and will never be broken.
 
The Spot Where the Little House Stood

My mother was born Rose Kunkle in South Bend, Indiana, on March 15, 1927. Her family lived at 1130 E. Bulla Road, the very place where “Touchdown Jesus” now stands overlooking the stadium. Her father, Bert Kunkle, was a carpenter at Notre Dame for 20 years and supervised the carpenters who worked on the construction of the football stadium. Her brothers would park cars and sell hotdogs at football games. Her brother Wally was Notre Dame’s official photographer for several years and her brother Bert was a Professor of Literature at the college from 1946-48.

As a girl, my mother played with Knute Rockne’s children. As a young woman she worked in the Golden Dome administration building with Jean Rockne. She would go to all of the home games, buying her tickets for the employee discounted price of $2.50. My mother and father met at Notre Dame and were married in the Basilica on campus. In 1946, members of the Congregation of the Holy Cross relocated to Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania and founded King’s College, where my mother also worked, and my siblings and I attended college.
 
Memories Held in the Hand

The power that turns my mother’s memories into such a meaningful experience for me as a man lies in a love for life that goes beyond the events and relationships associated with my mother’s younger years. It manifests itself in the countless objects we have collected over time: old photographs and flyers, signatures of the giants who made Notre Dame what it is today, and memorabilia from my mother’s days at the university. When we gaze upon a faded image or hold a piece of history in our hands, we touch the excitement, the spirit, and the glory of those early times. But more importantly, we touch the gentle heart of a woman who learned what it meant to be a part of something bigger than herself, and who delighted to lead her family with an unshakable faith in the virtues and life lessons she learned while at Notre Dame.

After my mother passed away, I was blessed to receive an old wooden footstool, repurposed by my grandfather from the original wooden seats in the old stadium. It meant a lot to me to have a piece of my mother’s past, but I must confess I was never the Fighting Irish fan that my youngest brother Tim is. The basement of his house is a shrine of honor to Notre Dame, filled with signed portraits and hand-painted murals, books and mugs and coasters, and all manner of mementos from pilgrimages made to the university. I remember the day I gave the footstool to my brother. He was moved beyond words; for no matter how many souvenirs he had collected over the years, none spoke to his heart in the same way as his grandfather’s handiwork. He promptly and proudly displayed the stool at the bottom of his basement stairs so that the object that so vividly connected him to our mother’s legacy would be the first thing visitors to this sacred football sanctuary would see.

This is what it means to be a son of such a loving mother, and to carry on the Spirit that guided her life until the day she died. The reason we love the college so much is because we love our mother so much more. Notre Dame stands as a relational reminder of the woman who believed in her family, loved more sacrificially than any woman I have ever known, and helped to make me into the man I am today.
 
The True Ties that Bind

There are so many connections to Notre Dame that the McCann clan boasts of with pride: my grandparents relationship with Father Ted Hesburgh, for whom the Hesburgh library is named; my brother Tim’s wife Shelley’s blood relationship to Notre Dame quarterback Joe Montana; my mother’s friendship with so many Fighting Irish players, including All Americans Ziggy Czarobski (47) and Jim Martin (49), and Heisman Trophy winner Johnny Lujack (1947); her autograph from Pat Obrien, who played Knute Rockne in the movie, Knute Rockne: All American (Warner Brothers, 1940); and the amusing story my mother told of how she didn’t consider Ronald Reagan a big enough star at the time to get his autograph when they were filming the movie at the college. All of these seem grand and wonderful; yet it is the deeper connections that I remember the most. They speak to me of what it means to carry on her legacy as I live out my calling as a husband, a father, and a man of God.

I recall my brother John phoning my mother right after the first Notre Dame score of every game they ever watched. I remember too his great sadness at the first game following my mother’s death when he reached for the phone and realized he couldn’t make the call. I smile when I think about how my brother Tim named his youngest son, Brady, after quarterback Brady Quinn, but made sure that his middle name was Alexander, so that if Brady made it onto the Fighting Irish in years to come, he would have the nickname “BAM” (for Brady Alexander McCann) in honor of his enthusiasm for football and his tough tackling style. My sister Margaret has been the keeper of photos and stories so that none of us will ever forget what Notre Dame meant to our mother and means to us. And my brothers Martin and Matt, and my sister Mary were always around to lend their humor and enthusiasm for the Fighting Irish as well. These are the true connections that follow the line back through my mother to her early days when Notre Dame was in her backyard.

This incredible Notre Dame mania is really nothing more than our tribute to the woman who meant the most to us. We love knowing that we have a special connection to something great; and yet, the true greatness comes from my mother’s deep faith, her strength of moral character, and the deep abiding love she shared with her children every day of her life. Though it is exciting to know we share in the history of a great school, it is more blessed still to know I share in the inheritance of heaven because of the character of the woman, who like the Blessed Mother, answered God’s call to raise a son and ponder his future forever in her tender heart. My siblings and I remain close to God because of the one who said yes to God’s call on her life.
 
Pilgrimages and Touching the Past

My brothers and sisters have made several trips to South Bend to visit the campus and the places where our mother lived, where she knelt before the altar on the day she married our father, and where she walked and worked and made memories with the men and women who lived during those early magical days when Rockne and the Four Horsemen put South Bend and Notre Dame on the map. None of my siblings has been able to put into words the feeling of setting foot in the spaces where it all began; and yet, when I see the tears on their faces and hear the love in the words they speak, I need nothing more. Touching those places reconnects us to the woman who cared for us and taught us to be men and women of faith.

Because we share such a deep connection to Notre Dame, its early rising stars, and the woman who grew up where it all went down, we are ever reminded of who we are in the sight of God. Far away in my home in Connecticut, I miss those times in Pennsylvania with my family watching Notre Dame games, sharing stories about my mother and her days in South Bend, and basking in the glow of the light and love we share that is the legacy she passed onto us. I pray that I will continue to pass on the values, the virtues, and the great hope I was given to my own family, so that one day, they will truly look back on their heritage as members of a great family, and see the One who loves us perfectly through the eyes of the woman who gave me life.

Men, take time to honor your mothers, your wives, and your children, as we pass onto them the legacy that has been passed onto you. May the lessons you have learned help to share the lives of those around you; and together, may we grow as a family of faith, united in our inheritance in Christ, revealed to us through the love of our mothers.