Oh Danny Boy…I am no were near being of Irish descent. I think that I might actually be negative Irish.  I am a mutt of Mexican, Spanish, French, English, and sprinkled with a bit of German (a very small bit). Of course if you ask my dad he’ll say we have some Apache in us, but that was just when we were applying to colleges.

While proud of where I came from, I can’t get over the awesomeness of the land of Ire.  I have books on Irish folklore and history. I have Irish charms and jewelry, green is my favorite color, my daughter is about to take Irish dance lessons, and St. Patrick’s Day is BIG ass deal around here.  Throughout life, most of my closest friends have been/are Irish. I even married a man who is Irish (so I do have a little Irish in me, tee hee hee).

I currently live in a town outside of Boston, and it is awesome. It is chock-full of Irish, Catholic, and belly-full-o-beer folk up here. It rocks! The families are huge up here because Irish people like to pro-create. It is super fun.

So why do I like these magical folk so much?

The other night my family had the pleasure of going out to a local Irish Pub/Restaurant with some friends who are Irish. They also invited some of their family members and their seven (yes seven) children.  There was music and singing and dancing. My daughter had a blast, I laughed till my belly hurt, and my husband downed steak tips and ales. All good. They even invited us to Christmas dinner with their family. Christmas dinner!!!

Now of course, many other cultures are just as warm and inviting. Coming from a Hispanic background on my father’s side, my family is just was fun and loving. The food is always good (hey, who doesn’t like tacos?), the music is upbeat, and people are always dancing.

So why am I an Irish poser?  Let’s face it, the cuisine is not all that great and it is hard to get a tan with fair skin (my husband goes from white to red to back to white).

Maybe I was Irish in a past life. Maybe I just really like green eyes and freckles. Maybe I enjoy fermented drink and soggy cabbage.

Or maybe it is just plain fun and we adopt things we like, no matter what our background.

My mother is from Maine. She is super-anglo. Yet, she married my father, a Mexican-American. She can eat spicy Mexican food and not blink an eye. She enjoys using a Spanish accent whenever she can, even at Taco Bell. And the dancing, hang onto your hats people, whitey can cut a run. That’s her adopted culture.

No matter where you came from, you can always wrap your arms around another’s customs, wherever you feel comfortable.  Maybe we would have fewer problems if we all gave it a go with another’s way of life.

That’s what I intend to keep doing. So I raise my pint of Guiness in a toast to you and Saol fada chugat!