Being Irish

Happy Saint Patrick's Day, All!

I've been reflecting today on what it means to be Irish. My Irish family has been here for awhile, since the potato famine. So I'm 5th generation here.

I see a lot of people wearing Kelly green, listening to the Chieftains, or singing "Oh Danny Boy," drinking green beer, dying the Chicago river green, talking in a fake Irish brogue, wearing four leaf clovers, funky top hats more befitting New Year's celebrations, drinking green shakes from McDonalds, eating potatoes and corn beef and cabbage, and celebrating being Irish, or just liking the Irish. My son even got pinched today by classmates for not wearing green, apparently some bizarre grade school custom I avoided as a child. Ironically enough, in his class, he was the only one who raised his hand when they asked who was Irish in the class. So the boy with the actual claim on the heritage gets pinched for not embracing the stereotype. Welcome to America.

None of the above in any way is what it means to me to be Irish. Nor are lepruachans or pots of gold. In fact, I hate "Oh Danny Boy." I don't drink alcohol, much less green beer, I am not fond of corned beef and cabbage. I object to the greening of the Chicago River on behalf of the masses who want to honor me, or pay homage to a saint who drove the snakes out of Ireland. I get irritated when people put on fake Irish brogues. I don't actually mind much if you're an Irish wannabee for a day. That's cool, because we're sharing, giving people, and in fact, it's sort of wonderous being Irish, I think. So let me share what I find wonderous about it.

My people made it out of a holocaust back in the day before they called it that. We were starved out like dogs by the occupying forces during a time when they elected not to send aid. It was not a simple matter of a potato blight, it was a series of decisions of the invaders/occupiers/warlords of my ancestral homelands that failed to consider us human. They sent us on what were called death ships, away. Some got out on their own. Most did not receive the benefit of an education prior to leaving, and the fortunate made it to America to take up some work and start again.

One of my ancestors who made it to these shores left us a quote about being Irish. He said "You have nothing to be proud of with being Irish, except for potatoes and poverty." I'll call that what it is, internalized racism. He likely meant it at the time, but here's the thing...every one of his descendants holds our pride of being Irish like a burning torch within our souls, and many of us, 4 to 5 generations removed, stay in touch and share family stories that make us prouder still.

My family came here without much of anything in the way of material possessions, on what likely took 3-4 months on a ship back in the day. They arrived in the east, and moved to the midwest fairly quickly. Despite the trauma of the move and what they left, they had a resiliency to make the best of what was before them and start anew. They worked hard, and maintained their faith and spirit. While some family history was lost, they passed on orally a family tradition of sharing the lineage. Every Irish family is different, I expect. In my family, much was shared about a unique, seemingly portable identity.

Our identity has nothing to do with the stereotypes danced out before my eyes every St. Patrick's day. In my family's version, we are tough, we are resilient, we are steely cold in our resolve to never let a situation down us. We help each other whatever way we are able, and we never forget who we are.

I grew up raised by the non-Irish side of my family, due to my parents divorcing when I was 6 months old. I was told of some of my heritage, but I didn't have much in the way of opportunity to interact with my Irish-American relatives. I expect I bought into some of the same lure of excitement with the idea of being Irish as a child. Who can't like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?

However, most of what occurred for me was learning about my Irish identity through looking at the family who raised me and noting the differences. It wasn't the food or the music or abstract cultural differences. It had to do with my growing awareness of how I thought, saw the world, and met life on life's terms differently. I had a lot of internal hope, even in the face of reasons to be hopeless. I had a great love of history, with a family that didn't like to read or write much down. I loved to write. I was passionate about knowing our lineage, and the factors that brought us here. More than anything, being raised without Irish or Irish-Americans around me, taught me just how Irish I was. My humor and my anger are definitely geneticly predisposed by that side of the family. Perhaps, too, my resiliency. I can't say that's universal among the Irish or Irish Americans. But I will say that I strongly suspect that our sense of social justice and interest in political injustices just might be bore of shared experiences.

One day some years ago, I went to an Irish festival, and stopped over at the genealogy table. A man sporting Kelly green, wearing the sparkly top hat, and making a fake Irish accent, saw my interest. Apparently, he was "Somebody Important and In Charge." He approached me and said "Ho, so you THINK you are Irish?" and went on to share a litany of all of the people from all walks of life who think they are Irish who come to his table, but often aren't. I explained, "No, I KNOW I am Irish." He didn't think much of that, and gave me a pop quiz, asking me our last name. I listed off the 5 generation of our lineage and where we came from in Ireland and when we arrived, and he was stunned. Perhaps if I'd had some green beer and a shamrock necklace with me, it might have given him some clue, that I am in fact, Irish. Sad to think that, but likely it's true.

When I'm being Irish, it's not reserved for St. Patrick's Day. It doesn't involve any of the stereotypical stuff. I don't reserve it for times when I'm with my Irish-American family now. It never involves Kelly green. It comes up around injustice, whether it be one I'm faced with or someone else's. I'll never back down from those kinds of fights, and it goes beyond banter or armchair debates. It comes up in my humor, and my ability to find it in both the joys and tragedies of life. I don't need to look the part or act the part, it just is. Most of all, it comes up in my hopeful response to life and the long view I take on most matters. I love that we are not only survivors, but thrivers, when we set our minds to it. And if everybody on the planet wants to be Irish for a day for these reasons, go for it and take it to the streets. The world might be a better place for it!