Growing up March 17th was one of the best holidays of childhood. Green everything, a day off of school, I could go to a parade though it wasn’t directly in front of my door.
As an Irish Catholic we understood that it was a religious holiday, but that we let others into our merriment as we remember our Irish roots. In Boston, there was a lot of Irish descendants.
Here in South Florida, there is a bar crawl somewhere, but there are very few true Irish immigrant celebrations around. The party life is mostly all people know.
At work last year the university held a British/Irish tea which offended me greatly. Clearly at the university I work at, no one on the planning board was Irish. They had no idea that Irish people have a long history of defying those Brits and that we are not the same. (I know my name is Victoria Pinder. My Irish nana married a non Irish guy during WW2, who then died so we grew up with nana’s Irish culture as the primary cultural heritage.)
We learned the history of Irish, why we moved to Boston, and I’m extremely sarcastic, even when I don’t think I am being.
So while I have to work on Thursday now, and this year, the pregnant belly means I shouldn’t drink my Guinness, I’ll still be excited.
A long while ago, St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland. Translation to the non poetic types. This means the Irish were Christened. It truly is a religious day though we typically toast like we would at a wedding or an Irish wake. It’s a day our ancestors remembered and we let other people in on our fun.
Drink away and wear green March 17th. Personally I’ll be wearing green and wishing for my beer.
