As Saint Patrick’s Day approaches every March, I feel this deep dread. I always know what to expect; parades, people wearing green, and lots of drinking. Not to mention everyone and their grandmother saying “I’m Irish!” This always makes me roll my eyes. Why? Because there is a difference between being an American with Irish ancestry and an actual Irish person.
I never say “I’m Irish,” mostly because I’m not. My mother was born and raised in Ireland (County Cork, to be specific). All of her family still lives there. My parents and I would take trips frequently overseas. By the time I was 10, I had been there a dozen times. The gaps between trips have become greater as money has gotten tighter, but some of my relatives always manage to come visit each year on a business trip to the States.
Because of my parentage, I am both an American and Irish citizen. I was born in Brooklyn before moving to Long Island. I have always felt that having such close ties to Ireland is a big part of my identity. Sometimes I feel like I’m in on this big secret that most American kids aren’t, like I have a greater perspective of the world. I never feel this more strongly than on Saint Patrick’s Day.
Look, I’m not saying Saint Patrick’s Day is not a big deal in Ireland, it is. Especially this most recent holiday, with Ireland beating Britain for the Grand Slam in rugby for the first time since 1948. But the way Americans “celebrate” the holiday is gross to me. It has become an excuse for people to get drunk because their grandmother was one-eighth Irish, yet they’ve never set foot on Irish soil.
The Irish have a deep and tragic history, and I’m not just talking about the potato famine. Most people don’t know that Ireland has only been independent from the United Kingdom for less than 100 years. Most don’t know that, despite the entire country being the size of West Virginia, approximately a quarter of it still belongs to the UK and functions as a completely different country. My mother grew up amongst terrorism, anti-Irish sentiments, and a desperate fight against discrimination. You may not think this to be possible, but it’s true. That’s why seeing the way the Irish are stereotyped in the United States frustrates me to no end.
For my family, we usually spend Saint Patrick’s Day with some of my mom’s Irish friends, grabbing a pint at the local pub. We don’t eat corned beef and cabbage because, surprise, that’s not really a thing in Ireland. We tune into the rugby or Irish football match as a way to connect to my family thousands of miles away. (I bet a lot of you reading this didn’t even know Irish football is a sport. It is separate from both American football and soccer, and it’s highly entertaining). The point is, I’m not going to attack people if they want to get crazy on March 17. I may roll my eyes, but I think it’s important that people understand why. I may not be Irish, but half of my family truly is. So next time you have a moment, learn a little about the Emerald Isle. You may surprise yourself.
