Green Lemonade and Tears
I’ve always been proud of being Irish. I guess it came from my dad whose parents immigrated here as newlyweds. My kids keep asking what nationality they have come from so I guess this is the ‘Last Hurrah’ before we turn into that diversity melange everybody seems to want. I like a fruit salad myself where you can still tell an apple from an orange. I’m kind of passionate about being Irish, though I’ve run into a few people who are not amused by my green nail polish or fake brogue. This is the time of year I play the sad songs of Ireland, bake scones and invite my siblings for corned beef and cabbage. I stop short of “Kiss Me I’m Irish” buttons, leprechauns, pots of gold at the end of the rainbow, or any sort of Irish supremacy slogans. We have our strengths and weaknesses. The truth be told, there’s a lot not to be proud of about being Irish.
Some believe “the curse of the Irish”, a fondness for drink, is in the genes. I think that nurture rather than nature plays a much greater role in what we become. To accept that one is genetically predetermined to be an alcoholic is to divest oneself of ones greatest resource - our faith in ourselves. Even if we were dealt a poor hand by nature, we still can choose to make lemonade with our lemons. The Irish race has had more than its share of lemons. Here in America the Irish have been pumping out lemonade to beat the band with Irish names dominating the political landscape in Massachusetts for a long time.
I wonder what St. Patrick, who died on March 17th in the 5th century and who has been credited with the Christianization of Ireland, would say if he were to walk about today or catch the six o’clock news. The scandal in the church would baffle him, I bet. Jesus said having a millstone around one's neck and being cast into the sea would be preferable to the punishment of someone who caused one of his little ones to stumble.
Heaven help us if a Victoria’s Secret commercial or a Britney Speare promo aired during the ‘murder and mayhem report’ that is our usual dinnertime fare. What’s this, he would look on in disbelief- same sex marriage? Faith and begora! Abortion - a woman’s right to choose and cloning to kill in the name of scientific advancement all during the watch of a severely compromised church and politically promoted by names like Kennedy, Kerry, Leahy and Shays - Meehan.
Thomas Cahill wrote “How the Irish Saved Civilization”, telling how we played a heroic role in the preservation of civilization during the period between the fall of Rome and the rise of medieval Europe. I hope a sequel doesn’t have to be written about how the Irish, particularly the Massachusetts diaspora, dismantled civilization. Irish pols keep playin’ the tunes, and tellin’ the tales that the electorate likes to hear. And, bring’n home the pork to go with the mess of pottage; like with Esau who sold his birthright, deals have been cut - a great inheritance traded for a lentil stew, or job security.
Like the unattractive figure on the Celtics Logo, we’re full of pluck, blarney and bluff. You won’t find me dressed up like a leprechaun and pinching anyone who isn’t wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day because they just might not be that proud of being Irish, and I wouldn’t blame them. I’m not sure but I think St. Patrick would cry.
Christine Noonan Funnell, guest columnist, Metro West Daily News
March 13, 2002
