My great grandfather migrated to the United States from Cork County, Ireland, during the potato famine in 1845. My father had a great love for the Irish traditions and when my brother was born, my father gave him the Irish name of "Paddy" for his middle name. I thought it was a fine name, but as we got older, my brother promised to break my arm in two places if I ever told anyone! So, mum was the word, but as you can see - I am not taking it to the grave.
Today is the celebration of St Patrick's Day. It was originally an important religious day and a celebration of the teachings of Christianity, by St Patrick. I don't know if, St Patrick, would be green with envy in the commercialization of his special occasion or how he would feel about a breakfast of green eggs and ham... and certainly pinching him would be out of the question!
I have always considered myself to have the luck of the Irish and although, I have never kissed the Blarney Stone, been to Bilberry Sunday or died my hair green; the Irish blood proudly runs through my veins. I too, love the traditions of my father, and I'm almost certain that there's a little leprechaun waiting for me at the end of the rainbow with a pot of gold, or a pot of stew or whatever he has in that pot of his.
It's one fine St Patrick's Day! By, Linda Sumner Urza
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