I was hoping to get to work and find the three year old that I nanny for dressed in his snake shirt, just to be ironic.
No one knows a thing about St. Patrick, except that he wasn't Irish. The story is that he was English, during the Roman Empire, which made him a Roman. The Roman's had ignored that silly little island with those odd Celts for quite some time, but finally, they decided to convert the people. Thus enters St. Patrick. Or so the story goes.
Revered amongst a drinking nation and highly honored in the cities across America where the drunken ancestors of the mostly-oppressed mostly-drunken-Irish immigrants settled and multiplied (and multiplied and multiplied), the reportedly-English St. Patrick has somehow become the hero of Irish culture even to the people who's families have not set foot in a Catholic Church in generations. He's so loved that Americans of all heritages pretend to be Irish for his special day. They're all, of course, jealous of the beer and whiskey.
The Irish are an excepting people, they'll let anyone drink with them, then move in. (well, this is true for the Catholics, I don't know about those Protestants) The Irish-American Catholics have held onto this welcoming drunken spirit. I do adore it so.
Really, I am Irish. Don't even try to tell me otherwise. I know, I know, you say "You're American, idiot". And well, it's true, I'm American, but my family is SO Irish. We're not even really conscious about it. ("We're Irish right?" my older cousin asks. "Yes, more than anything else," I reply) We're all about family pride. And drinking. And pushiness and persistence. And adopting any person with a Christmas dinner under 10 to join our crew, and bring their family (and hell, why not their friends, too?) I mean, what's Christmas without serving yourself from an buffet of dishes strewn over every surface and then searching for a seat?
We were talking about a different Holiday, though, won't we? (or wasn't I?, rather)
My only 100% Irish friend told me that he had heard somewhere that St. Patrick may have been Scottish, and though it wasn't Irish, it eased his mind just a little to think perhaps he at least wasn't English. He then told me that his mother was having six people stay at her home this coming weekend so that they could attend the parade.
I went to an Irish Catholic school where we didn't even have classes on March 17th. We just partied (sans Guinness or Jameson, of course) I don't know if they celebrate St. Patrick's day in public schools these days. They certainly celebrate St. Valentine's day, but given that his name is now archaic and novel, it is easy to drop the "Saint" from the day. And hearts! Chocolate! Of course the schools are fine with this. How do we get kids exited about regular old clovers that don't even have four leaves? Or little scary men in odd suits that lie and tell you there's pots of gold at the end of the rainbow? What's up with those pots? No kid has ever seen a pot like that. And how do we get them excited about stout? Or Irish whiskey?
Well, they'll learn the wonders of pretending to be Irish-Catholic for a day in their own time, I suppose.
I'm not Atheist, I just find this pretty funny:
No worries. I'm not bah humbugging this wonderful holiday. I'll be drinking Guinness and eating Dubliner cheddar, this evening. I was raised Irish-Catholic. I have my pride.
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