I’ve Never Been All that Big on St. Patrick’s Day

OK, to be honest, I am a St. Patrick’s Day grinch. I am not wearing green today, nor have I ever worn green on St. Patrick’s Day. I’ve never really understood the point of wearing green, drinking green beer or, gah, eating green bagels. I’ve never eaten corned beef, and actually have no idea what it is.

My St. Patty’s Day grinchiness began when I was a child. I hated the color green when I was a little kid. I didn’t own a single green article of clothing that I recall. Actually, I am sure I had green clothing, but I know that I have refused to wear them. I didn’t grow up in a house the celebrated St. Patrick’s day—I am Polish, and my parents didn’t go in for the whole “Irish for a day” thing that so many others do. In my house, it was all Polish all the time. (Insert Polish jokes here.) Celebrating St. Patrick’s day (or Halloween for that matter) was not the custom my parents were raised with in Poland, and were not the customs that they raised their children with.

I remember my first irritation with St. Patrick’s Day. I was in Pre-K at Warehouse Point School; I was five years old. We had gym that day, and my class was all lined up for some sort of activity. The gym teacher went down the line of Pre-Kers and gave a sticker to everyone who was wearing green that day. Of course, I had no idea what St. Patrick’s Day was, I had no idea that I was supposed to wear green on this day—not that I would have worn it anyway as I hated green.

I looked at the stickers stuck to the green shirts of my classmates, and instantly felt left out. I think that only me and one other kid—maybe it was the weird boy who insisted on wearing his jacket all the time and was notorious for having his sneakers on the wrong feet—didn’t have a sticker because we both weren’t in green. What a crappy thing for a teacher to do!

My dislike for St. Patrick’s Day extended into my teen years. My first non-babysitting job was in the bakery department of a local supermarket. The shipment of green bagels came in a day before St. Patrick’s Day. Green. Bagels. Is it just me, or should bread products never ever EVER be dyed green? Ever the dutiful bakery employee, I put the bagels in a basket and set them on top of the case, I think there were maybe 8 of them in there. I made a little sign that said something to the effect of “Yay! Green bagels! Get into the St. Patrick’s Day spirit!” (Worded a bit better than that, but you get the idea.)

Not one of those bagels sold. The day after St. Patrick’s Day I marked them down and put them on the “day old” shelf. Then another day after that they were tossed into the trash. All 8 of them.

So here it is another St. Patrick’s Day. I am wearing a grey sweatshirt. And I am still wondering what the big deal is about St. Patrick’s Day. I’ve never worn green on St. Patrick’s Day. I’ve never been inclined to kiss someone because they’re Irish because their T-shirt commanded me to. I’ve never been to a bar on St. Patrick’s Day, and I like my beer amber colored, never green.

Color me grinchy.