OK, so I grew up outside of Chicago, where being Irish isn’t just a one-day thing. I mean, this is the city that dyes the harbor green for a day, has a huge ethnic parade, and green beer pours freely throughout the town.
In my family, however, we do not go in for that whole “wearin’ of the green,” thanks to a tradition started by my grandfather. Oh, no. I would like to think he didn’t know about the Protestant Orange and the Ulster-Scots connection, and how much it offends “traditional” Catholic Irish folks. But Grandpa was a smart man, and I’m pretty sure he knew. See, if there was a way to irk people, he would find it, and probably do it.
But to the rest of us in the family, wearing orange became a symbol of Scottish pride. You’ll note a disturbing lack of Scottish hoildays in America. And my grandfather was terribly proud of his tartan. When you’re Scottish, even if you’re an atheist, you try to find a little cultural identity wherever you can. As they say in Trainspotting– we couldn’t even be conquered by someone respectable.
Anyway, the tradition continued quietly in my family, even to today, when my sister wore her MacDougall kilt to school.
But go back a bit to my elementary and middle school days. I used to hang out with my best friend Holly a lot. We walked to school together in the mornings, and she was in my Girl Scout troop. But on March 17th, she was not to be at school– her whole family packed up and went into Chicago to attand the parade, and then came home to bake green bread and feast it up on their ethnic holiday.
I told Holly a few years ago about the whole “wearing of the orange,” and she was shocked. She explained how offensive that was to her family, and that, had her mother known, I would certainly have been Banned For Life from her house.
Guess I’m lucky they were never home on St. Pat’s day.
BTW: I am wearing red today. No green, but no orange either, as I own no orange clothes.
Oh, and I’m sure is going to be tremendously amused that someone whose ancestors came over from Scotland over 150 years ago has this bizarre notion of being “Scottish.” Sorry, John. That’s how Americans are. Our own society is so culturally bankrupt, we cling to whatever fragments we can of that which we are genetically connected to, no matter how tenuous the connection.