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Not so Irish

As St. Patrick’s Day approaches, it becomes more apparent to me that I’m just not so Irish.

I know I’m 100 percent German — the original last name was Mueller, with another side of Petsche. I grew up on sauerkraut and something pronounced koo-ken (don’t know how to spell it). Grandma Onie chanted some German saying over skinned knees and we learned how to make some sort of dumpling which again, I can’t spell.

But when it comes to being Irish, I’m not. I wish I was because I think it would super cool. Unfortunately, I don’t have an O’ or a Mc’ in front of my last name and the closest I ever came to a shamrock was the clover-covered T-shirts we wore in 4-H.

I love corned beef and cabbage — cooked the real way, with potatoes. But the sign I’m not Irish — I think it smells weird while it cooks. The seeds and the seasonings . . . it bugs me every time until we get to the great cooked ending.

I don’t know what I think about green beer — it’s just beer with food coloring in it. Some people say they taste a hint of mint or lime, but that’s just because their brains are tricking them.

I grew up only about a half hour from O’Neill, Nebraska’s Irish Capitol — but the folks never allowed us to go. We never saw what went on there during their annual celebration — but I’ve heard stories. And even after I was old enough to go, I just never did. I guess I’m not nearly enough Irish.

The closet doesn’t contain any green clothes, I don’t think.

We do have Irish Spring soap in the shower. That counts for something.

I’ve never really won anything so I don’t have the “luck of the Irish,” and my hair’s been a lot of colors over the years, but never red (dang it).

I’ve never found the Pot of Gold and I’ve never seen a leprechaun (although I am short, so I could relate with the irritated little creatures).

The Irish brought us Riverdance. Again, I’m obviously not Irish — because like Chandler on “Friends,” the Lord of the Dance frightens me.

I have no idea what the Blarney Stone actually is and don’t know who the Molly Maguires were.

But I’m going to get in the swing of things because celebrating St. Patrick’s Day is so much fun. I’m all for celebrating the Irish, even if I wasn’t born into the fold.

 

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