Happy St Patricks Day!

[visual description: a drawing of leprechauns dancing.]

To all ye wee bairn....

In grammar school, I was taught by Irish nuns. Although I was Irish American and thought I knew about my heritage, I found out not only about Irish history from them, but about Irish culture. And the language ! It's so beautiful.

When I was in college out in Michigan, I frequented a coffeehouse called The Ark which invited international (including Irish) musicians - and I was able once again to learn about Irish culture and music. Then I met a radio d.j. - I babysat for her son Ian - who lived in Ireland for a year to experience what it was like. We had great conversations about Ireland.

St. Patrick's Day is always a reminder to me that my family were immigrants. My ancestors fled from the potato famine and came through Ellis Island with nothing in their stomachs or hands, but full of hope for opportunities and safety here. One of my ancestors fought in the Civil War and was quite a colorful character - buried somewhere in Getttysburg. Another was a talented artist who never became well known but worked hard at her trade. My grandfather was a train conductor - my dad went from stocking boxes in a factory to being a labor negotiator.

My family hasn't really been here that long. My brothers, sister and I are the first generation to have the chance to go to college. When I came home from college one weekend with books on "Women's Studies" , my father went through them aghast and threw most of them out. I had to retrieve them from the garbage cans outside before I returned to school. After that my mom enjoyed asking me when I was home how my Women's Studies course was going. My father would start choking on his food every time.

And when I announced I was going on for a degree beyond my B.A., my father tried to talk me out of it, believing it was unnatural for a woman to "get that much education". One of his friends, Fr. Fred Jelly, who was in higher education, pointed out that many women survived getting doctorates. But when I called home weeks after starting classes for my doctorate degree and was intimidated by going to school with so many "rich kids", my dad was the one who told me to stay put, that I was just as good as any of the rest of them. Better even. He died a few months later. We buried him on St. Patrick's Day. Typical Irish.

So, on this special day as I remember my heritage and celebrate my culture and faith, join me.

Shake the hand of the person next to you - give them a hug. Today we're all Irish - we're all part of the "clan".