Wearin’ of the Green

When the girls were growing up, in our home we celebrated St. Paddy’s Day with a special dinner beyond the traditional corned beef and cabbage.  I would dec our table with a green table cloth, shiny shamrocks and green candies.  And with the help of food coloring everything would be green–green milk (It tastes a little different to be sure), green rice or mashed potatoes, green salad (of course), green cookies and/or pudding for dessert.  Even my pure-blood Italian husband enjoyed this quirky custom.  My daughter has continued the fun tradition in her home with her family.   Can’t help but wonder how many future generations will adopt it.

Today, while I probably won’t dye Richard’s glass of milk or color his potatoes or tapioca pudding Irish green,  I’ll wear the color to honor the smidgeon of the Irish blood coursing through my veins.  And while, over the years, my Gaelic strain has been diluted with the blood of Englishmen and Scotsmen, for one day, I will proclaim that heritage with pride.  For one day, prelates and politicians; sinners, saints, and scoundrels will share in my legacy.


Kind of reminds me of an old hymn, “Faith of our Fathers.”   Whether my Irish ancestors immigrated to America due to the famous potato famine or to escape persecution for their faith, or to better their ‘lot in life’ I salute their courage, their fortitude and their zeal.  Today I can fulfill the words of Malachi 4:6, “He will turn the hearts of the fathers to the children and the children to the fathers.”   So until the English and the Scottish invent an equivalent day on which to celebrate, I’m all Irish, I guess.

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