What I need is a shirt that says "Only Half" -- so I could point to it when I'm invariably asked dozens of times on this day each year if I'm Irish. Instead I'm opting for the cheesy late-March-clearance-rack shirt that says "Everyone Loves an Irish Girl." I choose to embrace the day's commercial popularity, reveling in the fun for all -- although I wish the any-excuse-to-get-drunk crowd would put down their beer mugs and just enjoy the show.
Actually, I may be of Irish descent, but my dad's family has been on this side of the pond since the Great Famine, over 100 years ago. Other than drinking tea, I hardly have any deep-rooted Gaelic traditions. Well, I did take step-dancing lessons for several years because my first-generation-American neighbor did. There's also a sign on my front door that says "Cead Mille Failte" and a celtic cross on my window sill and around my neck and a claddagh on my finger. It does seems there's a bit of a connection.
Several friends have parents or grandparents who came over, and their traditions are more a part of their daily lives. In addition to the crosses and rings, there's Irish lace and Waterford crystal about their homes, they listen to Irish music on a regular basis often in a pub over a pint, and on St. Patrick's Day they go to mass.
I am making do this year by preparing some potato-leek soup and scones and pulling out the soundtrack for Once. Maybe I'll go out and buy U2's new album.
I feel I'm missing something. A connection to a complicated history, a country with a rich culture -- forget all the guilt and suffering. There is a spirit, a thirst for life that only the sons and daughters of Ireland know.
*sigh*
Well, I will watch The Quiet Man later tonight, despite the fact that purists would say that it teems with tired stereotypes, and could be considered sexist. As for me, I take the message that it's about a longing for a simpler way, for roots in a place where a man's a man, and a woman stands next to him, and the two together take life by the horns.
Oh wait. I have that. And the brood to match. While a chance to sit at a table telling yarns, pounding back a few pints, and listening to a heart-pounding jig would be nice now and again... I already have what the Irish hold most dear. Life is good.
Slainte.
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