As luck would have it, dontcha’ know, I’m not very Irish. All doz years of tinking I was at least half-Irish were years of illusion, maybe even wishful tinking because me’ da’ he was half Irish, or so he told me, and he mighta’ been, but you know it wasn’t true, not a tall.
But I looked Irish enough to fool some men in an Irish pub in San Diego, a place where the Irish expats (though no Irishman is ever an ex-Pat, if you get my meaning) hung out and sang sad songs and talked of the home country. “When were you last home?” asked a be-boozled old guy wit a tick brogue and tears streaming down his cheeks.
Not getting his meaning I told him, “This morning.”
“Och, you must be tired,” he said.
William Butler Yeats
Happy St. Patrick’s Day to you all from the scandahoovian side of the family… And here’s the song that made that old man cry.