My Irish identity may be ‘plastic’
St. Patrick’s Day comes with certain expectations for someone with a last name like O’Brien.
At very least, you are expected to wear green. Even if it’s just one of many green shirts you own — and it’s more of a forest green than the type of emerald green Ireland is famous for. That would accurately describe the sweater I threw on this morning.
If you really want to be obnoxious about your heritage, you can throw on a tam o’ shanter (even though that’s Scottish) and maybe wear a shamrock and a button that says “Kiss me, I’m Irish” (please don’t, my wife wouldn’t like that).
You could also dance a jig. Or sing one of a thousand Irish ballads or drinking songs. You may also want to drink a beer with green food coloring. To me, though, the oldfashioned brown color is just fine when it comes to enjoying some fermented beverages.
Part of me wishes I was a more festive person on days like today. If only I liked corned beef and cabbage just a little more or enjoyed talking with a Gaelic accent, than I could really get in the spirit of the holiday. But, for me, it’s mostly just another day in March.
It’s not like I’m not proud of Irish ancestry. I am. I just like to reflect on it in a more subdued way, without all of the “top-o-the-morning-to-ya” stuff. It’s nice to know that I come from a long line of hearty folk, who survived famines and persecution in order to establish themselves throughout the world, including here in the United States.
Considering the small size of the “Emerald Isle,” it’s amazing how many of us there are scattered throughout the world. If you look up the term “Irish diaspora,” you can see how centuries of mass migration have landed Irish people in nearly every corner of the world, from Argentina and Bermuda to Australia and Canada. It makes me realize that if my Irish ancestors had left the island at a different point in history, I could now be living in a totally different part of the world. Actually, if that happened, I’d be a totally different person.
There’s also an interesting term I just learned called “Plastic Paddy,” an insult used to describe people who aren’t “truly” Irish because they’ve too fully assimilated into another culture. Perhaps I could fit this definition. Even though my name suggests that I could still be living in Dublin, my actual ancestral makeup also includes Puerto Rican, Swedish and Norwegian “blood.” I’ve eaten more far more lefse in my life than I have corned beef and cabbage.
I often wish that other immigrant cultures were as good as the Irish at branding themselves. I’d love a robust celebration of Scandinavian culture. Still, I’m happy to wear green and keep writing that apostrophe in my last name.
OUT FOR A WALK
KEVIN O’BRIEN
EDITOR
