Millions of people around the world will claim Irish heritage today if only to make their Guinness go down smoother. Some, I’m not saying who, will “forget” to wear green in desperate hopes of receiving the thrill of a pinch from the gal in the cubicle across the way. But aside from green beer, squiggly-springy headband googles, and a lot of kissing and pinching - what’s the story? Why are we all so keen on being Irish?
The Irish have no right to be considered “lucky”. Take a glimpse of their tortured history of constant invasions, famine (1845-50), in-fighting, and terrorism. And then, there were all those snakes St. Patrick drugged with darts from his magical flute…no, sorry, that’s another story. The bloody English tried to kill and maim the Irish out of the people. It was even illegal to speak their own Gaelic language. And when the Irish turned to music to express themselves, Queen Elizabeth I ordered pipers and singers to be hung on the spot. (No ‘Wild Rover’???)
More than 7 million Irish immigrated to America from the 1700’s to the 1900’s so, yes, many of us surely have a “touch” (ahem) of Irish in us somewhere! Sadly, (and not so lucky) many were indentured servants sentenced by the British or they were running for their souls from religious persecution. They were – in a sense – exiled from their beloved Ireland. However, I digress into far sadder stories than I want to discuss here.
To me, there is a romanticism of Ireland that endures in spite of its angst-ridden past. One need only see the magnificence of the Cliffs of Moher swathed in mist to conjure tales of Faeries and ill-fated lovers. Pirates and steadfast women. The blue streaked Celts fighting with Clive Owen (ahhh).
Mostly, I picture a dark, smoky pub loud with laughter and fiddle and a quiet American boxer named Sean Thornton gone home to his White o’ Morn cottage. That’s what I love about Ireland.
“May God bring good health to your enemies enemies.” Irish Blessing.
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