Sometimes it’s just too tempting to try to help people answer the questions we pose when we’re out doing the “On the Street” interviews. It’s a temptation we never give in to, but it’s there, all the same.
This week’s question was probably the most tempting for me. Not really a question, I asked those braving the return of Iowa’s colder temperatures to watch the SaPaDaPaSo St. Patrick’s Day Parade to finish this sentence: “You know you’re Irish when …”
And then I watched as nearly all of the 12 people I talked to struggled for an answer.
Maybe it’s no longer true that “everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day,” but it’s not something I’d be able to confirm with great conviction. I’ve loved being Irish since I first learned I was Irish. For me, being Irish has always centered around a love of family; although it may be true in any other ancestral background, for me there's just something comforting and familiar in the geneology.
There have been, of course, other reasons I've been proud to be Irish. When I was in grade school it meant bragging to my friends of non-Gaelic descent that there was a day each March that was devoted just to “us.” In college … well, that was college and a long time ago and hey, even the Scots and Germans were up and drinking in time for the 8 a.m. parade.
As an adult I’ve changed my way of thinking from “everyone is Irish” to “everyday is St. Patrick’s Day.” Sure, I still wore green on Monday (there was bound to be some smart alecky 40-something out there ready to pinch anyone not in proper attire), donned my Irish button and even listened to a little of my favorite Wylde Nept CD before leaving for work – but there’s a part of me that is conscious, every single day, that I am Irish.
So here, in the true “You know you’re XXXXXXXXX when …” fashion, is my own list.
You know you’re Irish when:
• You have two skin tones in the summer: red and white.
• Strawberry-blonde hair, even heavy on the “strawberry,” is considered “blonde” in your family because it's not nearly as red as everyone else's.
• Your family gets together because someone is getting older, getting married, getting divorced, having a baby, having puppies, having a garage sale, getting confirmed, getting baptized, getting home from the Army, getting home from vacation, or just baked brownies and wants to share – and you absolutely love them for it.
• You not only know that your ancestors are from Ireland, you know which county (County Wexford and County Kerry for me, thank you very much!) (And thanks, too, to my Aunt Patty for reminding me!)
• You were a sophomore in college before you realized that not everyone eats corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick’s Day.
• You rejoiced with your family when your mother “lost” your father’s polyester green plaid St. Patrick’s Day slacks.
• You mourned when your father found another, more obnoxious pair.
For me, being Irish really is about belonging to a family that still cherishes getting together for even the smallest of occasions, let alone the big ones. It’s knowing there’s a reason we are where we are and why that is important. It’s staying in contact with those who are still on the Green Isle, and looking forward with great enthusiasm to the visits from cousins and others from Ireland, and planning with stars in my eyes my first visit there.