Sad, sad. Saint Patrick's Day has become an incredible sad day for me.
I grew up knowing the family came from Ireland. If it was Irish, I tried it and loved it. Everything from Guinness to Harp to Petersen pipes to Bushmills to corned beef and everything else. Murphy's stout, too.
I studied Irish history. I learned what Cromwell did, and how the UK came about. I learned about the potato famines and how England affected them.
I learned that Patrick wasn't Irish and his name wasn't Patrick. About how he was kidnapped, escaped, and then came back as a monk.
I learned that 26+6=1.
Then, when I was in my mid-40's, my first cousin was studying the family tree. One day he told me,"I bet you think we're Irish".
I replied,"We all KNOW we came from Ireland."
Then he told me -- our ancestors were only in Ireland hiding from the king, we're really ENGLISH.
Oh how sad I am this day, of all days.
And now I no loinger wear green on Saint Patrick's Day, I wear orange -- for the Earl of Orange. I STILL remember the history...:mecry::mecry::mecry::mecry::mecry: