Three years ago, I had the great privilege of spending Saint Patrick’s Day in beautiful Ireland. (Long story. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.)
A fellow who sat behind me on the bus going north from Dublin to Derry peered at me through narrowed eyes and asked, “Are you Catholic or Protestant?”
I had already been warned to watch out for that question. It wasn’t really a religious query. It was political, and it could be dangerous.
“Christian,” I mumbled as I buried my face in my book.
During my week in Ireland, I crisscrossed the country by car, a different city every day. On March 17, I noticed with stereotypical surprise that not one person was wearing green. “So, how do you celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day?” I asked.
“We watch the telly,” they said. “The Saint Patrick’s Day parade from New York.”
“And then you eat your dinner of corned beef and cabbage?” I asked.
They stared at me.
“What’s corned beef, Mum?” a little girl asked her mother.
Her mother told her to never mind, that it was a dish not worth discussing, let alone eating. In fact, not one person in the group would admit to ever having tasted it. Cabbage was okay, they allowed, but only with lamb. Not corned beef. Goodness, no!
Finally someone asked me the question they were all obviously dying to have me answer: “Why would you eat corned beef and cabbage?”
“Lots of us do in America,” I said a bit defensively. “All the grocery stores run big specials on it. We eat it so we can celebrate our Irishness. It’s the thing to do on Saint Patrick’s Day!”
At the end of the week, I settled on the plane from Dublin to Atlanta in my aisle seat. But when I glanced over at my row mate–a rather hefty teenage boy–I saw that he was not only crammed into the window seat, but that his leg was awkwardly propped sideways to accommodate the plaster cast from his foot to his thigh.
“It’s a long flight,” I said. “Let’s trade seats.”
He smiled appreciatively. His name was Sean and he was nineteen years old. He was on his way to Florida, and he hoped to stay there with relatives. Then, before we even left the tarmac, he said, “Are you Catholic or Protestant?”
“Sean, my lad,” I said with a sigh, “we have nine hours together here, and it’s a good thing, too. I am a Christian. But you are on your way to the U.S., and we surely do need to talk!”
I learned a lot on that flight home. I hope Sean did, too.
I believe in the sun when it’s not shining, I believe in love when I feel it not, I believe in God even when he is silent.
Irish saying
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p.s. I dropped your name on Gina's post, Barb. ;)
thank you so much Lisa, that helps a lot. I know he tried to blame me for so much stuff, but like I told all of his family and mine none of that added up to a divorce. I do realize it's his needs, it just hurts so bad to think how many years he's
Corned beef was eaten by Irish immigrants in America because it was cheaper than pork, which the Irish did eat with cabbage. Cows in Ireland were scarce for a long time and were used for milk production. So I imagine beef would have been very expensive there. BTW, my grandmother used to practically spit when we wanted to wear green on St Patricks Day. “You’re Protestant. Wear some orange”. She was nearly blind, so we dressed in green anyway.
I love this sort of history behind the history! And we did the same… wore something orange with our green!
A character in “Theophilus North” (Thornton Wilder, 1973), is shamed for feeding her family corned beef out of miserliness. The novel takes place in the wealthy Newport RI enclave in the late 1920′s, and the character (whose name escapes me) is a wealthy ‘young matron’. Corned beef is pretty much stigmatized in the story as not being fit for human consumption! Since we already eat so much food that truly isn’t fit for human consumption no matter how pretty the packaging, I go ahead and cook my annual corned beef brisket in March and love it!
I’m with you, Terry!
I like this history understanding coming though, can’t hardly wait until tomorrow!…TRACK