By Meri-Kathryn Peed

Reposted from MARCH 17, 2016 DREW NICKELL

(author’s note- this was originally posted a year ago on my facebook page, so in light of today being St. Patrick’s Day, I thought I would share it, once again. On St Patrick’s day. We also ALWAYS ate corn beef and cabbage with boiled potatoes, Irish soda bread and the men would have green beer. Another tradition was wear green and plant some potatoes (cut up and preferable with eyes on them) in the garden. This was for good luck and to remember the potato famine which brought my relatives on my mother’s side to the US. Our children keep many of these traditions).

Happy St. Patrick’s Day

My late father, who would be celebrating his 101^st birthday on May 16^th, was half Irish, one fourth Scottish and one fourth German, even though he always thought of himself as Irish. Given the fact that my mother was 100% Italian, I suppose that given such a “mongrel” background, as it were, that would make us one fourth Irish, so it is with this horrid cocktail of Jameson Irish Whiskey, Glen Levitt Scotch Whiskey, German lager and Italian Red Chianti, we should go ahead and offer a hearty and happy St. Patrick’s Day to one and all, whether you are a-sportin’ the Catholic green or the Protestant orange on this, the 17^th of March.

Dad always loved St. Patrick’s Day, and so did Mom. Both would be wearin’ the green all over- I think they might have even painted their faces green, if they had had the chance. On whatever night the date might fall, I would be assured of dining on corned beef, cabbage and even a sip of green beer, just for luck. It was one of those harmless frivolities that marked the passage of time. Given enough of liquid encouragement, Dad would even be emboldened enough to belt out his rendition of “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling”, in his soft Irish tenor voice- even though, invariably, he’d be sure to botch the lyric, as he did with any song he ever attempted to sing- such were the makings of family traditions, as it were.

I remember his telling of a tradition in Baltimore that, before he was a lad, there was a rather odd application of justice in that city. With so many Irishmen getting drunk on St. Patrick’s Day, and a finite number of jail cells to place them in, those arrested would be marched down to City Hall, forced to lower their trousers, and they would have their backsides painted kelly green and forced to stand until the paint dried. The thought was that the poor lads’ wives would summarily exact a much harsher punishment on their husbands, having come home with green posteriors, attesting to their imbibing during Lent, than the city ever could.

So, when I became of age and began to go out and celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, on my own, I would always get the same kindly warning from my Dad, “Don’t go getting your fanny painted, tonight,” which meant “don’t over-do it.”

So to all of my friends on this, St. Patrick’s Day, 2015, may I say “Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all, and don’t go getting your asses painted.”

-Drew Nickell, 17 March 2015 © 2015, by Drew Nickell, all rights reserved