Every year on this date people who are of German, English, Polish, Czech, Chinese, Polynesian extraction don green sweaters and shirts, pin paper shamrocks to their lapels, adopt fake brogues and set out for their favorite “pub” to drink beer that has been tinted green. They buy T-shirts emblazoned with “Kiss me, I’m Irish,” attempt Irish jigs and otherwise make total fools of themselves. Just about everybody claims to have at least a few drops of Irish blood running through their veins. And a lot of us who don’t think we are Irish at all, just may be.
Ireland seems to have been settled originally by a people of Mediterranean origin. Later, some people of unknown origin, known as Picts, came into northern Ireland and Scotland. These were followed by Celts, who were Indo-Europeans from central Europe. The ones who ended up in what we now know as Ireland called themselves Gaels and called the country Erin.
Around the year 800, the Vikings came along and established towns along the seacoast. Sprinkle in a liberal amount of English and Scottish immigrants and some French Normans and you have a fine Irish stew. Eventually, of course, these all blended to become what we commonly think of as the Irish – more because they live in Ireland than because of any racial definition.
When asked about my ancestry, I often reply that I am a mix of Vikings and Druids, which sounds somewhat alarming — as if I am descended from war-like pagans. I guess I am, if you go back far enough. I’m also descended from Germans and Norwegians — which is a really remarkable mixture when I consider how on earth the English captain of a Spanish ship managed to meet and marry an Irish girl in Kansas, and a Norwegian photographer fell in love with a German farmer’s daughter in Wisconsin and those two couples produced the descendants who would become my parents.
And yes, I claim more than a few drops of Irish blood but, except for St. Paddy’s Day, I’m probably more Norwegian than Irish. It was all so long ago, and nationalities have blended with such variety over the centuries, that you’d be hard put to find anybody with a pure, traceable bloodline.
Geneticists tell us that that’s probably a good thing — blending of different ancestries makes for healthier, smarter, more attractive children by eliminating many of the weaknesses that are particular to any given race.
For today, I have elected to be Irish. I shall probably wear a green sweater and cook some corned beef and potatoes for supper. If I feel particularly celebratory, I may even put a few drops of green food coloring in a glass of beer and carry on a tradition that did not originate in Ireland.
As far as I know, it began in the United States as a bit of silliness to promote the sale of beer on St. Patrick’s Day. I’ve been told that the Irish don’t consume much beer. I’ve also read that they don’t particularly care for corned beef and cabbage. Personally, I could do without the cabbage, but I do like corned beef — in a Reuben sandwich, preferably, which is also not Irish.
All this hoopla, along with a few parades and a flurry of shamrocks, blarney stones and leprechauns, makes for a festive holiday and a lot of cupcakes with green frosting. But what is it really all about? Aside from the legends about driving the snakes from Ireland and using the shamrock as a symbol of the Trinity, St. Patrick won most of Ireland over to Christianity, introduced Latin as the language of the Irish church, brought Ireland into closer contact with Rome, and acquainted Ireland with the culture of western Europe.
Born in Britain, he had been captured, at the age of 16, by Irish raiders and spent six years in slavery as a shepherd in Ireland. After his escape to France, he became a monk. About 419, he had a dream that called him to convert the Irish and, after years of preparation, he was made bishop of Ireland in 432.
He gained the respect of the King of Tara who thereafter protected him in his ministry to the Christians already in Ireland and in his efforts to convert others.
Today, you’re probably as Irish as anybody else. Enjoy.
A former volunteer and substitute teacher in the Solon schools, Milli is an artist and poet who lives near Morse where she also creates unique greeting cards and handmade books.