When I was a kid, I loved St. Patrick’s Day. I was always the kid wearing the shamrock headband and all-green outfit to school, excited that people everywhere were celebrating Ireland, the little island where I was born.
It wasn’t until I got a bit older and a bit more cynical that I started realizing that what they were really celebrating was an excuse to get drunk because their great-great-great grandpa went to Dublin once.
I am perfectly aware that I’m in the minority here, but I hate St. Patrick’s Day. I hate the green Guinness, I hate the weird obsession with kissing people for (maybe) being Irish, I hate the parades and I hate corned beef and cabbage. If it were up to me, I would spend all 24 hours of the 17th in bed with the curtains drawn, ignoring every single drunk partygoer who might have otherwise catcalled me for my sort-of-red hair and freckles.
It’s hard to articulate what spurred this passionate change of opinion. Undoubtedly, part of it is spite, since everyone always expects me to love the holiday. Are those people aware that, in Ireland, the only ones who really celebrate the way we’ve come to expect are the tourists? That anyone actually from Ireland would be horrified at the spectacle of a green beer? That shamrocks and lucky four-leaf clovers are two different plants? That St. Patrick’s Day is, as the name suggests, technically a religious holiday?
I can’t exactly say that I’m an Irish native, since I’ve lived in the U.S. since I was less than a year old. Having been there many times to see family and heard my dad’s stories of his childhood in Belfast, though, I do feel that I’m somewhat more of an authority than those who think wearing a Celtics jersey is festive.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m incredibly proud of my heritage. Every morning, I drink my specialty tea imported from Ireland in my favorite mug decorated with typical Irish wildflowers, and I can jam to the Pogues like nobody’s business. What I don’t appreciate is the worldwide celebration of a stereotype involving alcoholism and leprechauns.
Trust me, I’m expecting your angry emails telling me to lighten up and enjoy the day. To all of you, I say sláinte, and will cheerfully delete them unopened.
