Minnesota St. Patrick's Day

By Molly

I have always both looked forward to and been a little apprehensive about St. Patrick’s Day yearly as a child.  It was a day that I knew needed to be celebrated and respected but I really never understood why.  It felt like a lot of pressure.  I think my parents tried to find the most authentic Irish experience for my family, but with us living in Minnesota that proved to be a bit of a challenge. 

We would wake up in the morning and find that leprechauns had been in our house making trouble in the night.  The leprechauns would hide our shoes and school clothes.  I remember pouring milk one St. Paddy’s and finding that it was dyed green.  My Dad would laugh and laugh at our reactions. As I believed him to be part leprechaun I also imagined him up in the middle of the night helping out the little guys. 

After gathering our missing belongings we would get dressed up like little Irish girls.  We would wear any piece of green clothing we had along with Irish wool sweaters; I made sure to tell everyone I met that “they actually came from Ireland.”  On the times that St. Patrick’s fell on a school day we would wear the outfits to school. I remember winning costume contests and feeling very superior to other children in school who were not as Irish as I was. 

To find the most authentic Irish experience in southern Minnesota it seems one must go to Waseca.  In Waseca they have an Irish parade that consists of Irish families marching behind a banner of their family name.  When I was very little we would march with my grandparents and an uncle or two.  One year my uncle Tim juggled in the parade.  I felt like all eyes were on us because we were real Irish with the last names of O’Leary and Donnelly.  I felt so proud and special the year my grandparents were named Mr. and Mrs. Emerald Isle.  They were adorned with crowns and robes. 

As we got older, less and less family was available to walk with us.  The last year that we walked Bridget complained and complained about having to walk in the parade.  Wanting to be accepted by Bridget, I complained too.  Timmy was a baby in a stroller that year.  As a protest Bridget brought a book along and read her book the whole time while we walked the parade route.  Following Bridget’s lead I also brought a book and placed it on the top of Timmy’s stroller to read while I pushed him.  The magic of the day was lost. 

We found that magic again after we started an Irish roller-derby team.  Mary said it best at my Dad's funeral when she said that we named the team with Dad on our minds. The team needed to be Irish themed.  We wanted to have our Dad as the mascot. In Ireland the police force is called the Garda, and with some word play our team became the Garda Belts.  

Once again we found ourselves in a St. Patrick’s Day parade every year, but this time we were on roller skates in downtown St. Paul.  Mary, Bridget, and I even competed in a contest in Minneapolis to be crowned Miss Blarney.  I got first runner up.  I still have the sash.