I’m technically writing this the day before St. Patrick’s day, but I figure it’s something important enough to me to blog about  a full three hours before it occurs.  It has its origins in St. Patrick coming to Ireland and teaching its ancient heathens to quit their pagan ways, and to become part of the Catholic church, essentially making him the first guy to shout at a bunch of Irish folks to stop having so much fun.

Being something of a lapsed Catholic, I don’t often find myself celebrating the saint for ridding the island of snakes miraculously.  To me, St. Patrick’s day is more than that.  I don’t mean to say it’s strictly a day to pound Guinness, Jameson and Bailey’s in massive quantities.  That is to say, if you’d like to get hammered in such a manner, I strongly encourage you (additionally, if you want to do shots of tequila and drink Dos Equis come Cinco de Mayo, I’m down) but for me it is a chance to consider my own inner Irish-ness.  And my dad, a New York City cop is about as stereotypically Irish-American as you can get.  As a child, growing up, every March 17th was begun with some sort of variation, whether it was the Chieftains or one of my dad’s old LP of drum and pipe music (which is a pretty interesting mental image: 6am, all the lights are off in the house, and then from nowhere, the bleat of bagpipes being started).

The author’s tattoo.  Don’t pay attention to the nipple.

St. Patrick’s day for me, is a day when I can look back at all the generations of people who struggled with  occupation by outside powers,  famine and eventually making a name for themselves globally, both as world class writers like James Joyce and Yeats, and through their emigrations in search of a better life.  A group of people who found ways to make it through adversity and maintain a rich culture and identity.  And I’m proud to have this in my ancestry.  So, this year , go ahead and raise a pint and a ruckus, and wear green if you don’t want to be pinched.

Sláinte!!!