Like any kid who grew up in a predominantly Irish home, I was dragged to Irish dance classes and forced to wear a green ribbon in my curly locks. Make no mistake, I’m Irish.
Although I’ve always been proud of my heritage, I’ve only grudgingly endured the annual celebratory displays of it, cringing at the way every year Irish becomes synonymous with adorable wee folk and public urination. Then there’s “pot o’ gold” and “Always after me Lucky Charms.” Blah, blah blarney.
I love my family and I love my identity, in a way that has nothing to do with shamrock shakes and green beer or great throngs of people celebrating intoxication and cereal-box leprechauns. And I’m Irish enough to know that stupid stereotypes can “Pog mo thoin.”
According to legend, St. Patrick banished snakes from the rock and used a shamrock to teach the concept of the Holy Trinity. Maybe he can do something about the commercialization.
Anyway, “Erin go bragh” to ya.