It’s that time of year when I cringe and stay home.
Yes, “Amateur Night” for the Irish is coming up, when vast quantities of people will get puking drunk, drink green beer and sing stupid sentimental songs until they cry in their green beer.
Not me.
I stay at home. When my family asks me what we are going to do for “Saint Paddy’s Day”, I break out Yeats, a Guinness, and maybe we have some corned beef. (“This sucks!” cries Annie, my 10 y/o daughter) I don’t watch THE QUIET MAN in ‘honor of the day’.. GANGS OF NEW YORK is more akin to my family’s welcome to America in latter half of the 19th century.
Still, we have much to be proud of. Irish immigrants built this country’s cities and railroads (along with a lot of other folk from a lot of other places), policed her streets, fought fires, served in her army and navy. We have given much, we have BUILT, much.
The fact that we are here, still, is perhaps the most eloquent testament to the Irish Experience in America.
A proud American, by way of Galway and Sligo
Third Point of Singularity 