No, everybody's not Irish

I must apologize in advance for the massive amount of snark you are about to read.

Today, dear readers, is one of my least favorite days of the year - Saint Patrick's Day. You might ask why a one hundred percent Irish woman with the name Mary and red hair hates the most Irish of days. Well, dear readers, how would you feel if there were a day each year the rest of the population went around pretending to be of your ethnicity by parading around its stereotypes? Italians, what if everyone went around wearing big, gold chains, tight pants and coming on to every woman in site? I'm talking about stereotypes of real Italians, not Italian-Americans in which case they would be wearing leather jackets, threatening to beat everyone up and, I guess the gold chains still apply. What if there were a Confucius Day when everyone walked around wearing giant straw hats and bowing? I think my Chinese friends would be pretty pissed off. So put yourself in my shoes when I see everyone on the train to New York wearing green, plastic derbys, drunk off their asses at nine in the morning and slurring bad Irish "brogues" because "everyone's Irish today". No, really, you're not.

Don't get me wrong, I love being Irish. So much so it was a real blow when I took my husband's very Italian last name. It meant all of my dreams of Gaelic first names for my children went right out the window. I wanted daughters with names like Colleen and Maura, sons named Seamus and Eamon*. Putting those first names with my new last name guaranteed a lifetime of playground torture for my offspring or at the very least an identity crisis. Imagine my chagrin when I now meet my children's classmates with first names like Liam and Connor with the least Irish last names you could imagine. I had to fight the good fight though when my husband would not allow me to name my son Brady, my mother's maiden name, and give it to both my daughters as a middle name. To give credit where credit is due Brady is becoming rather ubiquitous and losing its ethnic flair so my husband was ahead of the curve.

There is also something liberating about being an Irish woman. We are known for our strong work ethic, toughness and, yes, raging tempers. Irish women are not to be messed with. Take Maureen O'Hara in The Quiet Man. The whole town is afraid of her and despite her obvious beauty, no man in town will marry her. Not a ringing endorsement, but then American John Wayne blows into town and this one-time boxer is her equal. My husband loves the scene at the end where Wayne, the "quiet man" who has taken all of her crap so far, finally blows a gasket and physically drags Mauren O'Hara back to the house because he's had enough of her foolishness. (Note to my husband: Don't get any ideas, smart guy.) Maybe there is a hint of domestic violence there, but the way she falls completely in love with him afterwards shows that once an Irish woman meets her equal it's a match unlike any other. Sure, she's bound to throw a few plates now and then, but that passion will keep their marriage alive (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) OK, I just threw up in my mouth a little that I just wrote that, but in a lot of cases under that repressed, Catholic guilt-ridden exterior lies a passionate soul.

So with my love of my Irish heritage in my heart, I will grin and bear it on this most annoying day as people ask me, "Where's your green?" and why I hate corned beef and cabbage (an Irish American invention, by the way, they actually don't eat it in Ireland). I will try to ignore the drunk sixteen year olds with shamrocks painted on their faces walking home from the train station and try not to punch someone in the head when they start to sing Danny Boy - since no one, but a real Irish person, knows any of the words other than "Oh, Danny Boy...". I think I might have to partake in an Irish pastime and have a few drinks to get through it - even though it pisses me off, there can be truth in certain stereotypes and the one I will admit to is the Irish know how to have a damn good time. Besides, my kids might be a little embarrassed if Mommy got into a street fight and I'm not sure my husband would post bail.

* Despite their last name, I strongly emphasize the fact that my children are three-quarters Irish.

PPN - As usual, I'm adding a post-publishing note for those of you who don't read the comments and get the benefit of my sister's bon mot - "Irish women - they love hard and they hate hard. Gotta love 'em."