"All words are symbols that represent unspeakable realities. Which is also why words are magical." (Donald Miller tweet)

Thursday, March 17, 2011

it's my day

Kiss me, I'm Irish!

Well, I'm only a little bit Irish. I've got a few Irish drops of blood rolling around inside. (I think.) And actually, unless you are Spike or a child, I'd probably rather you didn't kiss me, to be honest. Let's not have any awkward situations, OK?

It's St. Patrick's Day!

People often tell me that I must be Irish because my name is Patti and my hair is red. But my name was a random choice. And my hair colour is also a choice, but not a random one. So neither of those things is proof of my Irish-ocity.

However, as the family stories go (and I'm sure my F-A-C will be happy to contradict or corroborate these details), three brothers came on the boat from Ireland. On the way, they had a fight, got off at three different ports, and never saw each other again. One of them was my great-great-not sure how many greats-grandfather.

Also, apparently there was once a small newspaper article saying that someone with our family's last name had been hung for treason in Ireland. No one seemed surprised. Obviously, the guy was a hero that took a stand against the oppressive Brits. Oh, those nasty Brits....

Also, one of my top ten favourite movies is Waking Ned Devine. So there's another thing.

So today - kiss the Blarney Stone. Catch a leprechaun. Nab yourself a pot of gold. Wear your green undies. Anybody can be Irish today.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

1 comment:

vjc said...

I can neither confirm nor deny the stories of our family roots in this country. (I only remember the one about someone hiding from the Black Donnellys.) And don't forget that any potential Irish in my branch of the family has been STRONGLY diluted by a Swede. However, still share a passion for potatoes in a variety of forms. Still love blarney. And still wore a touch o' the green for the day.