St. Patrick’s Day

St. Patrick’s Day

Our late father, who would be celebrating his 101st birthday on May 16th, was half Irish, one fourth Scottish and one fourth German, even though he always thought of himself as Irish. Given the fact that our mother was 100% Italian, I suppose that given such a “mongrel” background, as it were, that would make us one fourth Irish, so it is with this horrid cocktail of Jameson Irish Whiskey, Glen Levitt Scotch Whiskey, German lager and Italian Red Chianti, we should go ahead and offer a hearty and happy St. Patrick’s Day to one and all, whether you are a-sportin’ the Catholic green or the Protestant orange on this, the 17th of March.

Dad always loved St. Patrick’s Day, and so did Mom. Both would be wearin’ the green all over- we think they might have even painted their faces green, if they had had the chance. On whatever night the date might fall, we would be assured of dining on corned beef, cabbage and even a sip of green beer, just for luck. It was one of those harmless frivolities that marked the passage of time. Given enough of liquid encouragement, Dad would even be emboldened enough to belt out his rendition of “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling”, in his soft Irish tenor voice- even though, invariably, he’d be sure to botch the lyric, as he did with any song he ever attempted to sing- such were the makings of family traditions, as it were.

I remember his telling of a tradition in Baltimore that, before he was a lad, there was a rather odd application of justice in that city. With so many Irishmen getting drunk on St. Patrick’s Day, and a finite number of jail cells in which to place them, those arrested would be marched down to City Hall, forced to lower their trousers, and they would have their backsides painted Kelly green and forced to stand until the paint dried. The thought was that the poor lads’ wives would summarily exact a much harsher punishment on their husbands, having come home with green posteriors, attesting to their imbibing during Lent, than the city ever could.

So, when we became of age and began to go out and celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, on our own, we would always get the same kindly warning from our Dad, “Don’t go getting your fanny painted, tonight,” which meant “don’t over-do it”.

So to all our friends on this, St. Patrick’s Day, 2015, may we say “Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all, and don’t go getting your ass painted.”

-Drew Nickell. 17 March 2015

© 2015, by Drew Nickell, all rights reserved