I’ve heard that St. Patrick’s Day is essentially an American holiday. In Ireland it’s a Saint’s Day, so, people would go to church. It was only the Americans getting drunk in the pubs in downtown Dublin.
One of the Jesuits at my high school told us that the image of the fighting Irish was an entirely American invention due to stereotyping Irish immigrants. The beef between the Irish and Italians, also probably an American phenomenon. I wonder if people from Ireland and people from Italy have any opinion about each other at all.
My father is from England but it actually hasn’t impacted my identity as much as my mother’s Irish ancestry. Also, I think it’s interesting that technically I’m the son of an immigrant but it’s relatively meaningless given that my father’s from an English-speaking Western European country. I like soccer and have crooked teeth but that’s the extend of the culture shock.
My mother’s ancestry is more significant. Her Irish Catholic roots go back generations. I think my ancestors came over because of the potato famine. They eventually ended up in eastern Pennsylvania in a working class town that decades later is known as a tourist destination for white water rafting.
The Irish are self-deprecating but the English are self-effacing. It’s as if they think if I keep this stiff upper lip and don’t talk about England much, perhaps everyone will forget the whole subjugating entire continents for a century thing. So, while I’m more immediately British, I feel more Irish.
Hell, maybe it’s just the Catholicism. Ironically, I am currently sober because I gave up alcohol for Lent. I don’t remember the last time I went to church but I call it my “just in case Catholicism.” I imagine getting to the pearly gates and being confronted with a lifetime of taking the Lord’s name in vain, not holding the sabbath holy, not honoring my mother and father, and doing a whole bunch of coveting and saying, “Yeah, but I gave stuff up for Lent!” St. Peter will then sigh heavily and say, “Alright, kid, you did do that,” and wave me through.
I attribute all of my mother’s traits that I have (and fight against) to her Irish-ness: guilt, temper, grudge holding, a fondness for drink. So much of what I consider my Irish-ness might be as fake as claiming affection for Ireland by making sure to wear a green shirt one day a year and using Irish Spring soap. But I have pale blue eyes and hopefully can tell a decent story.
It’s late. Since I’m not drinking I went to the movies tonight and had a great time. Tomorrow the paper shamrocks advertising Guinness will be out of the bar windows and a lot of Americans will wake up with splitting headaches. I’ll wake up feeling great and like any good Irish Catholic, I probably won’t go to church.
