March 17, 2009
It's a great day for the Irish.
And a great day for the 16.7% Irish, or whatever it is that I am. I am a classic American mutt. I wonder if I can swab my cheek and send it away to one of those doggie DNA places to have them sort it all out?
Anyway...did you know that St. Patrick wasn't even Irish? Depending on who you listen to, he was likely born in either Wales or Scotland. The 25% of me that's Scottish (that's a pretty precise number. I think.) wants to believe the latter is true. Patrick was captured when he was in his teens and taken as a slave to Ireland. That's right my friends, A SLAVE. The road wasn't paved with rainbows and pots of gold for our beloved Paddy.
He finally escaped his captors in his 20s, became a priest, and devoted the rest of his 40-odd years to peacefully spreading Christianity. And, apparently, "After years of living in poverty, traveling and enduring much suffering he died March 17, 461. "
Well isn't that a kick in the kilt.
And how do we celebrate this auspicious life? Pints of Guinness, boiled beef, and green bagels. And parades.
So very odd, we Americans are.