I do believe that from now on, March will officially be the most festive month of my year.
Saint Patrick’s Day was always a big deal in my family. My mother is about 98% Dutch, but when she married an Irishman in 1978, she saw the opportunity for a new party tradition. There are countless pictures of me in my earliest years, sporting green ribbons and sweaters and hoisting cups of green soda.
I love those memories. They laid the foundation for a deeply rooted love of my Irish heritage. The celebrations evolved over the years, but one way or another, Saint Pat’s was commemorated as only a pack of Euro-mut American Protestants could mark an ancient Saint’s Day.
And then, sometime around 2002, I went to Quinn & Tuite’s Irish Pub (known at the time as Pete Brown’s Office). No green beer, few Protestants and certainly no Orange. I learned to like corned beef and Guinness, memorized a handful of Irish rebel songs and got to be good friends with Bill Quinn himself. Suddenly, Saint Patrick’s Day was not just a day to eat burgers on green buns and listen to Danny Boy… it was a proper Holiday that called for a parade and at least two weekends of “Saint Practice Days” before the day itself. March 17th saw my friends and myself on a tour of West Michigan live shows and beer tents, always ending up in the thick of things at Quinn’s. Better than Christmas, I tell you.
Three years ago, my sister and I spent several early March days gallivanting around Ireland, and managed to recover in time to bring a little authenticity back to Grand Rapids. It was a good year.
I’ve come to think of March as the opening of not only St. Pat’s season, but the Spring, warmer weather and a promise of increased sun. Festive indeed.
Last year, I spent Saint Patrick’s Day giving birth to our daughter, Iris. Sometimes I worry that people will think I actually planned to have my baby that day, but noting could be farther from the truth. From the moment I received a due date of March 18, I hoped delivery would happen at least two days early or a day late. Yes, I was being selfish, but I was also hoping that my child would not have to share a birthday with a holiday that was, at least in my social and family circle, quite a big deal.
But, the wee one made her debut at 2:11 pm on March 17, 2012, and shows no signs of remorse. So until the end of my days, my favorite holiday will also be the birthday of my first child. This is just fine, as long as Iris doesn’t come to hate the season that is so much a part of who I am. We of course plan to keep her birthday as a separate entity, never forcing shamrock themed cakes or green decor.
This year, we’re starting the fun early. Saturday was “Family Day” at Quinn & Tuite’s, and Iris got to go to the bar for the first time. She bobbed her head and body to the live music, and took in sights ranging from a giant leprechaun to middle aged men doing Irish Car Bombs (it’s a shot). We enjoyed having her there, and showing her off to many of our good friends. She won’t be joining in the festivities of the actual Saint Patrick’s Day, and I imagine my involvement will be somewhat less than in years past. But I don’t do as well with the hangovers these days anyway, so I suppose it’s all for the best.
As a side note, this will be the first Saint Patrick’s Day since we lost Seamus. I admit that fact will haunt the back of my mind, as well as the minds of many others. One of my favorite March Holiday memories is of helping a nervous Pat Woods navigate the streets of Grand Rapids while Seamus and my friend Beth giggled drunkenly in the back seat with Pat’s guitar.
Back to the present. I wonder what that jolly green-bedecked two year old in the pictures would have thought if she’d seen 30 years into the future…
