What St. Paddy's Day Really Means to Us

Growing up in an Irish Catholic household was exactly as stereotypical as you’d picture; celtic décor as far as the eye could see without being tacky, of course (shamrocks-NOT clovers), we had claimed a designated section at church (left hand side when you walk in, about 10 pews deep), parents who could spout Irish history or song lyrics at the drop of a hat, and a mom whose response to anything even slightly less than favorable was “Jesus, Mary and Joseph”.

Even our two most recent dogs were claimed as Irish (shout out to Clancy and Finnegan) and my cat would don a shamrock bandana most days.

St. Patrick ’s Day was always revered as the High Holy Day for as long as I can remember. For our family and close family friends- it meant so much more than just a day of drinking. To me, it meant waking up to Irish music (usually The Wolfe Tones to start) and fresh baked soda bread filling the house. It meant coming downstairs to my mom singing and dancing in the kitchen, Dad sporting his shamrock tie and my brothers in their Irish-best. It meant being whisked upstairs by my mom after breakfast so I could have my hair set in hot rollers (a very rare occurrence) before I got to go to a luncheon with my grandpa (who naturally, was a judge) before marching beside him and my brothers in the parade. By the time I got to my grandpa’s office, it meant making sure my dress was in tip-top shape and pinning that year’s shamrock pin and corsage to my lapel. The parade after the luncheon was always my favorite part (well, besides the part at the luncheon where all of the older men at the table gave me their cookie because they “wanted it, but really didn’t need it”- I never understood it then but boy do I get it now). Strolling down the streets of downtown Cleveland, waving to my adoring fans (aka family friends, neighbors, and classmates- not to mention my parents!) even if I did freeze my legs off in the process.

As an adult the routine has changed, but only slightly. Now it means heading to my parents’ house first thing in the morning to grab soda bread before its set out for the guests. It’s being greeted at the door by Finnegan in his shamrock bandana, The Wolfe Tones over the speaker, and smiles all around. It’s getting ready to go to mass with my mom, brothers and their significant others and children while my dad works steadfastly at getting our own luncheon started. It’s caravanning down to St. Coleman’s with my extended family in tow, finding our cousins at mass, and the ecstatic hugs that follow (truly, it’s an even better feeling than Christmas). It’s watching the processional of bagpipes tin whistles, drums; the Irish and American flag come in while standing next to my best friend and her mom- in the same Irish church my grandpa went to as a kid.

It’s remembering those who have gone before us, those who are still with us, and those of our family who are still in Ireland. It’s digging our roots a tiny bit deeper and taking pride in where we came from, and where we are today.

After church it’s a quick stop at the bar to imbibe in some live Irish music before heading home to have a quality conversation with the family before the music gets too loud and food & drink get too distracting. Because let me tell you, they sure do. While we were at church and stopping for tunes- dad is at home prepping the biggest St. Patrick’s Day luncheon, with help from his crockpot army that starts to assemble weeks in advance. The laughter is plentiful, and in true Irish fashion the storytelling is endless.

St. Patrick’s Day to me, is way more than a day of drinking. It’s a day with my family where celebrate who we are as a family, what our heritage means to us, and where we dig deep into our roots. We embrace our friends and neighbors as extensions of our family, and the revolving door of them that come through to spend time together and eat and enjoy each other’s company proves just that. It’s a day where we let whatever is weighing us down lift and celebrate the good things in our lives- together.

To me, it far surpasses Christmas or any of the other holidays that come to mind when people throw out their favorite. You can have Christmas- mine has, and will always be, St. Paddy’s Day.