The Dangers of Irish Amateur Night

A Sheriff once told me St. Patrick’s Day was “amateur night."  His parents were Irish immigrants and he frowned upon the bawdy American celebration.  He also booked a lot of drunks into his jail.  Especially when March 17^th fell on a weekend. 

When my mother was still among the living she joined us at a St. Patrick’s Day Parade.  A drunk tossed a beer can along the street and nearly clocked her on her noggin.  Needless to say, I wasn’t pleased.  The Turkish family next to us were shocked by the behavior.  Their kids just wanted to see the parade.

My dad liked to go out for dinner on St. Patrick’s Day and then straight home.  In Gaelic his last name was Ciulla.  Lord help anyone trying to figure out the pronunciation.

March 19^th is St. Joseph’s Day and I don’t recall ever seeing Americans of Italian descent getting loaded in celebration.

Maybe because my Irish ancestry is watered down (a DNA analysis places it just below 50 percent), I don’t get terribly excited about shamrocks, green beer and step dancers.  Or more likely because I’m older I’m not excitable.  Thirty years ago was a different matter.  By the grace of God, I didn’t end up locked away in John Dillon’s jail!