This is always a strange day for me, as I imagine it is for many of my non-Irish brethren. As I watch the throngs of DC’s Irish American community stumble from pub to pub, I feel small pangs of envy washed away by annoyance. As much as I abhor nationalism, there is something nice about a group of people getting together to celebrate their common history and culture. Granted if I were to judge the Irish culture purely on today’s events, let’s just say it wouldn’t go very far in disproving any stereotypes.
Anyway, the annoyance comes from far more insidious roots. It is not uncommon for me to see blatantly anti-English posts on acquaintance’s facebook walls or even posted on those very same jovial pubs. While it is definitely not unwarranted (massive understatement), it did always irk me a bit. England has been, by and large, a force for good in this world — and I don’t want whole swaths of my friends to discount it.
So I had a typically very mature and respectful reaction on most St. Patrick’s days — I wore orange.
But recently I’ve been doing some family digging, and found that like most people from Northern England, there seems to be some unspoken immigration from Ireland on my grandfather’s side (strangely coinciding with Spy finding out about her own Anglo-Irish heritage). This has certainly caused me to reevaluate everything — but it has led me to an epiphany. When Ireland and England can forget their petty differences, spectacular things can happen. Don’t believe me?
God, how did I not come to this conclusion before? I mean seriously, it doesn’t get better than that. So I guess for the first time ever, sincerely have a great St. Patrick’s day and don’t completely hate on the English. Without them, none of the above would be possible.
P.S. I would be remiss not to inform you all the Anglo-Irish marriage did cause perhaps the most unholy abomination to ever be released: