St. Patrick’s Day Parade weekend is the holiest of holy days for my family. It all began with my mother who would dress us head to toe in green, kilts, Irish sweaters and blinking pins and send us on our way to walk the parade route with our father, who was a Friendly Son of St. Patrick. This year has been exceptionally hard because I did not get the usual phone call early in the morning, which usually went something like this, “Top of the morning to you, Molly.” To which I would reply, “And the rest of the day to yourself, Mom.”
My Mom always had a knack for making it an even bigger holiday than it really is; shamrock shakes, green bagels, green beer (for her) and ensuring that we knew every word to every Irish song that the band would play in the bar after the parade.
This year, Chris, who is also a Friendly Son of St. Patrick, proudly marched the parade route with Jack in his stroller. He beamed with pride and so did I to see my son partake in the wonderful tradition that I was able to experience as a child myself.
We enjoyed the after-party and as usual, it was nice to catch up with friends and watch Jack marvel in the provate bagpiper and drum band performance in our party room.
So proud of my Irish lads!