Saint Patrick’s Day

Team Blue,

I’ve long had an unusual relationship with Saint Patrick’s Day, as Patrick is the name my parents named me. And I’m Irish, to boot, on my mother’s side - there’s Finnegans back there, and County Cork, though I’ve never been. It’s a silly holiday, where everyone wears green in your third grade class and that’s… sort of all it means. Hooray the snakes are gone?

And all my life, everyone has expected me to revel in it, to be an extra super big fan of Saint Patrick’s Day. I hear it on the day, to be sure, but even upon meeting me and hearing my name, one person in one hundred might say, “Oh, you must love Saint Patrick’s Day.” 

To which I say, eh. 

I’m sorry, friend or acquaintance, but I don’t particularly celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day. In fact, I resent the imposition, the assumption that this day is one of the biggest and bestest of my year, that I am overjoyed to have this privilege, to be able to dress up in the pure green garb of my named Saint. 

I didn’t even pick this name! I don’t mind it, don’t get me wrong, it is common yet uncommon, fairly consistent over the century and more past, strong if somewhat difficult to say - no I do not go by Pat, there are several people in my life who have claimed the right to call me Pat, but I do not prefer it. I’m always surprised at the hesitation and uncertainty I see when people take down my name and try to spell Patrick. There’s really just the one main way, are you expecting an H? No K, just the C, from me?

And then the history of the world throws a content-free goofy holiday at me, bearing my name.

I’ve spent all my life conflicted about this, and defining myself by celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day only reluctantly and sheepishly, and then almost not at all. Some years, I don’t even wear green - or I’ll wear a green undershirt to technically be in compliance.

But what if I just said yes? Said yes to the goofy holiday that bears my name, with Saint attached no less, took the cheeky win from the universe and grinned to the world, “ah yes, it’s named for me, you know?”

What if I really got into it, hammed it up, saved my greenest for Saint Patrick’s Day and made corned beef and cabbage and my great grandmother’s Irish bread? Should I not have in my possession a shamrock cookie cutter and a tube of green icing? 

The connection between Saint Patrick and this Patrick goes even deeper than I knew. Not too long ago, I did a little amateur Googling on Saint Patrick, and was surprised to discover that the annual Patrick-related pilgrimage occurs on Reek Sunday, the last Sunday in July - right around my birthday. On Reek Sunday, the penitent faithful climb Croagh Patrick, the holiest mountain in Ireland, where Saint Patrick is said to have spent forty days and forty nights fasting, presumably before throwing his famous bell and driving the snakes out of Ireland. 

The next time that Reek Sunday will be on my birthday is 2029. And with that, I have now been given a life quest. I will see you on top of the mountain on Sunday, July 29, 2029. 

In the meantime, I’ll have a little to-do on the Last Sunday in July here at Twin Crix, a participatory musical festival. I’ll let you know more soon, but get it on your calendar now.

Green and getting greener,

Twin Crix