I will take it, wash it, check to make sure all of the buttons are secure, and then carefully iron it in preparation of “the” day. I will carefully hang it on a special hanger, so that it will not be wrinkled or crushed. You see, I don’t wear “Kiss Me I’m Irish” buttons, drink green beer, or go to the parades or parties. I stay at home with my son, and gently, carefully, explain to him what it really means to be Irish.
We don’t speak of leprechauns and pots of gold. Dispelled is the myth of the beer-bellied, red faced, braggart, whose only goal in life is to find the next pub. No, we speak of a people who carry music within their souls, poetry within their hearts, and who have given their lives on battlefields, in defense of their country.
We then speak of an Irish hero. A poet and soldier, he lost his youth on the beaches of Normandy and walked into the hell of Mittlebau-Dora in Nordhausen, Germany. He gave his rations to starving prisoners, and mingled his tears with theirs, as he carried them out of the depths of the tunnels, where they were forced to live and die.
He arrived home after the war, and tried to put his life together, but nightmares plagued him the rest of his days. Still, in true Irish spirit, he fought to rebuild his life.
My father cried when he heard bagpipes, or when Kristi Yamaguchi performed a perfect triple axel. He held his breath during Riverdance and beamed through tear-filled eyes, when his grandson crawled into his lap. He took great pride in his Irish heritage, and during one of our last conversations, begged for me to remember mine.
I wrote the following in honor of that memory:
“He lay back wearily upon pillows piled high,
His once bright eyes dull with pain.
A weak smile pulled at his lips, as shaking hand
Cleaved through once abundant hair,
Now thinned by toxic treatments.
‘Now listen to me, Dotter.
There’s things ya be needin’ ta know,
About where yer people come from -
And land so green, it would tear yer heart.
Dotter, stop yer cryin’! We must be partin’ soon.
And if ya be wantin’ to remember me - I can tell ya the way.
So hush. Hush. Hush.
Dotter, remember your roots!
And every year - be wearin’ the green!
Wear it with pride, girl - yer head held high,
For it’s poets ya come from,
Aye - and great men and women too,
Who would not be held down!
And don’t ye be, girl. Don’t ye be.’”
Each year, I remember our talk, and honor my father by “wearin’ the green.”
On March 17th, I will carefully take my blouse from its hanger, and slowly slip it on. I will enjoy the feel of the fine linen, and the change of light on the embroidered shamrocks. I will think over the previous year, and judge whether or not I have held my father’s trust. I will spend the day in contemplation, remembering the men and women who sprang from the Emerald Isle…remembering…my father.
I will also remember other Irish men and women like:
- Jonathan Swift, author of Gulliver’s Travels and A Modest Proposal;
- Daniel Boone, frontiersman and explorer of what is now Kentucky;
- Davy Crockett, served in Congress and died at the Alamo;
- Oscar Wilde, author of The Importance of Being Ernest, and The Portrait of Dorian Gray;
- George Bernard Shaw, playwright of such plays as Pygmalion; Nobel Prize and Oscar winner;
- James Joyce, author of Ulysses;
- Henry Ford, founder of the Ford Motor Company;
- John Wayne, actor;
- Judy Garland, actress and singer;
- Mairead Carrigan, Nobel Prize winner: brought Catholics and Protestants together in Dublin, Ireland, in a march for peace;
- Betty Williams, Nobel Prize winner: brought Catholics and Protestants together in Dublin, Ireland, in a march for peace;
- Robert Kennedy, Senator and Civil Rights leader.
And 16 US presidents whose roots can be traced back to the Emerald Isle, including:
- John Fitzgerald Kennedy, 35th President of the United States;
- Lyndon Baines Johnson, 36th President of the United States;
- James Earl Carter, 39th President of the United States;
- Ronald Reagan, 40th President of the United States, and
- William Jefferson Clinton, 42nd President of the United States.
***
About the author:
Debra Shiveley Welch is a third generation poet, essayist, novelist, short story and children’s book author. Her well-received children’s book A Very Special Child is “… a unique and spiritual collection of poems and short stories which readers, especially new mothers and those who have recently adopted a child will find enlightening and expressive…”
Rita Chatman - © Creative Arts Times – 2006”Her son’s recently published children’s book Christopher Bullfrog Catcher “…will capture your heart; it can happen in many ways, but each time it is fresh and new. This is the case as I read this delightful work by 13 year old Christopher Welch as scribed by his mother, Debra Welch. Christopher has learning differences, but this has not quenched the fire of life within this special young man, nor his desire to share adventures of his life with others. Shirley Johnson, Senior Reviewer, MidWest Book Review” Christopher Bullfrog Cather is currently being translated into Japanese.
Jesus Gandhi Oma Mae Adams, a whodunit murder mystery involving a beloved televangelist, unfolds in a debut novel by co-authors, Linda Lee Greene and Debra Shiveley Welch. Search the dark depths of the human soul in a thrilling murder mystery mixing supernatural elements and intriguing suspense, spiced with history, romance, and unpredictable twists and turns.
Mrs. Welch is now writing a docu-novel in which she chronicles her childhood of poverty and loneliness leading her to The Adoption of Christopher.
"Debra Shiveley Welch is a master storyteller. I find her writing to be very much on the order of what is considered, in old terms, a true storyteller, one that takes the nucleus and expands it to take on all the senses -- I can see what she sees, hear what she hears, smell and taste what she smells and tastes. Most importantly, though, I feel what she feels." Linda J. Alexander - Books for the Thinking Reader: www.lindajalexander.net , www.authorsden.com/lindajalexander.
Mrs. Welch can be contacted at Merribuck@aol.com.
