Growing up Irish...

The other half of me is Irish. My Dad would say that's the "good" half. My Mom would beg to differ.

My Dad was fully Irish, through and through, and no one could have been prouder of his heritage than my Dad. He was born in the US, the son of an Irish immigrant and and a US beauty. My Dad inherited my Grandfather's love of whimsy and story telling. My Dad could tells some whoppers! He could also sing in a brilliant Irish tenor tone. But one of his best talents was his ability to argue almost anything at all. This, unfortunately, was one of the traits I got from him.

Growing up with an Irish Dad and a Polish Mom, each of whom were equally as headstrong, I can attest to witnessing many interesting and amusing arguments. My Dad would argue to the point of frustration, barely getting his voice over a normal volume and never resorting to name calling. He was, in fact, one of the master's of remaining calm and collected even when in the heat of an argument. That, of course, made his opponent, most notably my Mom, go completely crazy by the end. I don't know if making a Polish lady usually results in their losing the ability to make sense but that's what would happen to my Mom. She would reach the apex of shear frustration and finally end her part of the argument with something like "You don't know your arse from a hole in the ground!" Occasionally, it would come out as "You don't know your hole from an arse in the ground!" which would always send us kids into fits of laughter.

My Irish Dad often dreamed about going to Ireland one day. He read book after book about County Clare and County Cork - the areas from whence his people came. He loved Joe Feeney. Remember him? The Irish tenor on the Lawrence Welk Show. Lawrence Welk was from North Dakota, as were my parents, and they had, on several occasions, seen Mr. Welk and his Orchestra when they were just a travelling band in the Dakotas. Whenever Joe Feeney was on TV, we kids had to "shut it" and not make a peep. Once, when I was in high school, Joe Feeney came to St. Joe's. I think I was the only kid in my class that actually knew who he was!

Every St. Patrick's Day, we got dolled up in as much green as we could find. My Dad had a Kelly green cardigan sweater that he wore year after year. When he passed away, I took that sweater and held onto it for a long time. I could smell his Old Spice after shave in it and holding onto it brought back such good memories.

Ah, me Dad...for him we bastardized the words to the song "Harrigan" from the old James Cagney film, "Yankee Doodle Dandy". My maiden name was Kelleher so, for us, the song goes like this...

K-E-double L-E - HER spells Kelleher!
Proud of all the Irish blood that's in me,
Devil the man who says a word agin me!
K-E-double l-E-HER you see?
It's a name that no shame
Has ever been connected with,
Kelleher! That's me!

Erin go bragh, Dad!