Friday, March 17, 2006

"Patrick was a Saint---I Ain't!"

Well, now that Blogger has their little early morning glitchiness fixed, I can make an obligatory St. Paddy's Day post.

I had married into a family of Catholics of Scotch/Irish descent. So, naturally, this day ranks right up there as one of the biggest high holy days for them. Prior to that, this day was just another day as far I was concerned. Oh, yeah, I would try to have a least one green item on that day, even if it was just a shamrock pin. I mean, that's what you do right? Having some Irish in me as well (via England) kinda made me feel obligated to at least acknowledge the day. I did stray off the traditional path for awhile and my sense of youthful rebellion compelled me for a time to wear ORANGE on March 17th. I had been raised Protestant and so the traditions of that day weren't so set in stone sacred. It was an inside joke that noone around me got, thankfully.

I have fond memories of festive corned beef dinners, mucho grog afterwards and Celtic tunes blasting from the stereo at my brother in laws home. Eventually someone would spontaneously begin to belt out "Danny Boy" and everyone would join in. We'd dance, we'd cried, we'd get completely plowed. That's whatcha do. It was fun.

My husband passed away a month before March 17th. So when that day rolled around that year, it wasn't the same. All of us were still too heavily steeped in grief to carry-on like we did. I don't even recall if we all actually had a family dinner on that day-that's how out of it I was.
Since then I've been getting further and further away from the traditions, reverting back to my upbringing-where March 17th held absolutely no profound signifcance whatsoever. This morning my kids donned something green- a shirt, a jacket and told me that their teachers had warned them "No pinching allowed today" (spoilsports.) and off they went.

About the only thing I really think about on this day is my husband's 'traditional' T-shirt he'd pull out of the drawer on March 17th-the only day he'd wear it. Kelly green and in white lettering said: "Patrick was a Saint...I Ain't!" He loved that shirt-I did too, it always made me laugh. It was sooo him. He always looked so stark-raving Irish, anyway. Auburn hair, blonde goatee, high apple-like cheekbones that almost concealed his Newman blue eyes when he smiled, which he did-alot. He was always the life of the party. I can recall one St. Pat's party when he tried to demostrate his Celtic dancing ability and put a rip in his jeans. He was afterwards known as "Lord of the Pants".
That's the kind of stuff I think about on this day. Not the legends, not the religious aspects, just my wild Irish boy.

I have since tried every year to find that shirt. Somehow, someway it has vanished from my home. It's not in his old drawer where it always was, freshly washed and neatly folded awaiting the next St. Paddy's day, not in his closet, not misplaced in another drawer-it's like when he passed away, the shirt disapeared as well, as if only he was worthy to wear it.

And in a weird way, that's fine with me.
Happy St. Paddy's Day, William Scott-whereever ye may be. We'll save some corned beef for you.

1 Comments:

Blogger white trash republican said...

I'm fat as a tick on corned beef and taters. I've been told that the blog ain't showing comments, so I'm just testing.

3/17/2006 10:39 PM  

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