WEARING OF THE GREEN

There were many mysteries in my life growing up...and why we observed some traditions in my family was one.  For instance, we weren’t Catholic but we had fried salmon cakes every Friday night during lent, “Can't hurt", my grandmother would reply when I asks why? And as she did countless times, she would remind me, "your mother was christened a Catholic" – I wasn't sure what that meant...and it remained a heavenly mystery. Another festive occasion we celebrated every year was Saint Patrick’s Day and we weren’t Irish either.  I pondered this thought about this and looked it up in my encyclopedia because we didn't learn much about feasts for many Saints in the 4^th Methodist Sunday school class.  When I ask mom why we did this – she said, “Because it’s fun!”  That was good enough for me as a nine-year-old.

On Saint Paddy’s Day, my mother picked out a green shirt for me to wear to school and she wore her green sweater to work at the glass plant.  I was sure that she would bring me something good to eat wrapped in a green napkin when she came home because she always saved me her treat from her lunchtime holiday parties.  After school that day the kitchen smelled much different – it always did on holidays.  And this afternoon was no different, there was the unmistakable scent of cabbage in the air as my grandmother presided over her version of an “Irish” meal. (BTW...cabbage and Brussel sprouts were not my favorites - my mom made me eat them.  That night we had bland for dinner.  Corned beef which was “traditional” my mother reported.  And for years I wondered where the corn was?  Boiled potatoes and a great pile of cabbage were piled on my plate.  I always marveled at that combination – as it seemed to taste mostly like hot water.  All in all, when I sat down to this meal, I was very happy that this holiday was only one day each year...and I didn’t ask for my usual seconds that night. 

After clearing the dishes my mom presented me with a semi-squashed green cupcake that she had stowed in her pocketbook at lunchtime. 

 "It's home made from one of the girls", she said, and then with a kiss on my cheek wished me the “luck of the Irish.”  And that summed up our tribute to the patron Saint and famed snake chaser of the Emerald Isle.

 Even now after so many St. Patrick days...I still don’t think eating cabbage is all that lucky. (Note: Decades later by son gave me an Ancestry DNA test kit and to my surprise I found that I am a wee bit of Irish after all! And I decided that from now on I would eat Brussel sprouts and cabbage without compliant.