I'm not really much for green beer.
I really don't care for corned beef and cabbage.
And I really can't stomach "Irish potatoes." It always struck me that you might as well pour sugar and cinnamon in your mouth.
I take my cue for celebrating St. Paddy's Day from my mother.
And yes, John McBlain, it is always Paddy's, not Patty's. I’ve had an annual debate with the very Irish county councilman over this usage. I'm married to a Patty. She is decidedly Italian. Patty is a woman's name. She will never be confused with her husband, who is a confirmed Paddy, derived from the Irish version of Patrick, which is Padraig. The belief that Paddy is some kind of slur founded in the belief that so many making merry on this day wind up in the 'Paddy' wagon is unfounded.
Don't believe me? Visit this website. I rest my case.
My mother always was dismayed at the way St. Patrick's Day was celebrated. She said that in Ireland, it was much more of a spiritual holiday.
I used to take my cue from her and try to attend Mass on March 17. I haven't made it the last couple of years. As usual, work gets in the way.
I will honor my Irish heritage in a couple of special ways. While I don't dress up in green from head to toe, I do wear a very special tie that I wear only one day every year.
It belonged to my father, and I believe he got it from his father. It was made in Scotland - and no doubt worn proudly by several generations of Herons. It is a wool Tartan green plaid. It connects me to my father, who died 37 years ago.
My father was a man of very few words. It prompted my mother - who more than made up for his silence - to tag him as the original Quiet Man.
In doing so she gave me another tradition I try to honor every year. At some point in the next few days, I will watch 'The Quiet Man.' It remains one of my favorite movies.
My children never met their grandfather. They believe, however, that the acorn did not fall far from the tree. On more than one occasion they have referred to me as the 'quiet man."
It's a badge I wear proudly. I don't need green beer to prove my heritage. Actually all I have to do is gaze in the mirror. Once look at the 'schnozz' that so prominently defines my face leaves all doubt behind as to my gene lines.
Happy St. Patrick's Day.
And dad, your tie still looks great.
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