Irish from my head to my knees, but some stereotypes just don’t fit
My Ancestry.com report from a few years ago confirmed the obvious: I am Irish, mostly.
No surprises. No doubts. If standing up, I’m Irish from about my hair down past my knees.
That does not make me cooler on St. Patrick’s Day. I was born and raised here, not Ireland. Same for my late parents and grandparents. My paternal great, great grandpa was an Irish immigrant. Thomas Mackin came here when he was 12 years old from a small Ireland town called Ballinrobe. He settled in St. Louis and eventually bought land on Collinsville Avenue in East St. Louis. He became a United States citizen in the late 1890s.
That’s our story. Mostly Irish, genetically. Both paternal and maternal sides. It does not define me, but it’s part of who I am. I am proud of my roots, but I don’t get carried away with it.
I have visited Ireland twice. Kissed the Blarney Stone. Seen the Cliffs of Moher. I’m going back to Ireland. Beautiful country, deep in history. Green, quiet and peaceful. I won’t drive there. Too many narrow, winding roads and tour buses.
Do I fit the Irish stereotypes?
A few but not all of them.
Let’s take a look:
The Irish love to fight. False. I am a peaceful Irishman. That little, feisty Notre Dame mascot? Ignore him. He’ll go bug someone else.
The Irish like to drink. True and false. It’s exaggerated. There are Irish like me who don’t drink much and have grown fond of the non-alcohol brews. We look Irish. We are Irish. And we drive home without an eye on the rearview mirror.
The Irish all have red hair. False. My hair was red once. It’s white now, with age. I have Irish friends and family with black, brown, blond hair. Deep down, they wish they were natural redheads.
The Irish are extremely religious. False. Some are devout in faith. But some of us pray mostly when we need something, lose something or we have really messed up.
The Irish are obsessed with the weather. True. It’s imbedded. Ireland weather is famous for having four seasons in one day. Talk to a person of strong Irish heritage. Bet there’s a weather reference early conversation.
All the Irish eat are potatoes. False. But we always wish there are potatoes on the table when there are none.
The Irish can’t take a compliment. True. Tell me you like a column and you will hear something like, “Thanks. I think you and I may be the only two people who read it …”
The Irish like to talk, talk, talk. False. I don’t listen well, either.
The Irish worry a lot. True. Folklore is worry causes our freckles. We worry about why we are not worried.
The Irish are known for holding grudges. True. We don’t forget or forgive well. Forever, we are plotting revenge, in our very Irish, passive-aggressive way.
The Irish hate the beach. False. We love the beach. But most of us are naturally pasty. We don’t love what the beach brings to us.
The Irish are lucky. True. But it’s bad luck. If you are Irish, you understand that if you bought the winning lottery ticket, it’s already torn in half and on the trash truck that came yesterday. Still, I feel lucky to win.
The Irish are superstitious. True. Painfully. Same chair for big games. Same shirt. Don’t step on cracks. Never say, “I haven’t lost a golf ball all day.” Next shot will be in the woods or lake.
The Irish invented the Irish exit? True. Where is Mackin? He left an hour ago.
The Irish have natural musical talent. False. Some Irish people have talent for music and dance. Some, like me, have only one contribution to music and that’s listening to it.
The Irish have wit and humor: True. You can always tell when an Irish guy tells a joke because he’s the guy laughing loudest.
The Irish love Irish toasts, quotes. True. Visit our homes and offices. They’re everywhere. In frames. On plaques. With pictures.
The Irish love the shamrock. True. Check closets, drawers, golf bags. Shamrocks are essential.
The Irish believe in leprechauns. False. It’s fiction. But there’s that one little Irish cousin or friend. Feisty. Bearded. Fun but easily angry. And you wonder: Is he one, maybe?
