It's Saint Patrick's Day today, which in my family means being forced by my mother to wear green and go out and get drunk on green beer. For as long as I can remember, this has been the tradition. My father, a dead ringer for Tony Soprano, brought me and my siblings up to believe we were 100 percent Italian. Sure my mom was Irish, but that didn't matter. According to him, our name was Celentano so that made us Italian.
The only day he tolerated our Irish heritage was on St. Patrick's Day. He let my mother make a fool out of herself, and in turn, he called her names like "Irish Bastard" and "Fucking Mick." Yes, my family was your typical Ozzie and Harriet.
The funny thing about this is I would later find out that my mom is Scottish. That she had friends who were Irish when she was growing up and liked being Irish better than Scottish. Apparently, she didn't like men who wore skirts.
So tonight at 5 p.m. PST, Bush will feed us his bullshit speech and try to convince us why we need to invade Iraq. I'll sit in my ridiculous green shirt and flip off the television set. Then I'll head off for the Irish Sea bar, with my mother donned in a green T-shirt that says, "Kiss Me I'm Irish," light-up shamrock earrings, a flashing light shamrock tie, and a very large Styrofoam green shamrock hat. And I'll partake in mugs of cheap green beer. After watching Bush's speech, there won't be enough green beer in the city.
Posted at March 17, 2003 5:06 PM