Kiss Me, I'm Irish

by Nancy                          

I'm a half breed. Half Irish, half Scot.  The sound of bagpipes makes me want to sneak off and join a midnight meeting of the IRA. It's genetic.

The Scottish side of the family? Classic stereotypes: They're tall, stern, not exactly cheapskates, but not big spenders by any means. Very witty, but in a dry, Presbyterian kinda way. You may think we're aloof, but we're actually just reserved. Not chatty, not prone to exaggeration.

The Irish half has the twinkle in the eye, the gift of gab, the fondness for a nip once the sun is over the yardarm. Or before, if there's a good reason--like maybe the sun comes up. Weak heads, though. We're big on potatoes, not spicy food. Plus you're our new best friend in five minutes.  And no tale is too tall to tell.

I live in a city that is sharply divided along ethnic lines, too. If you're Polish, chances are good you help out with the pierogi sale at least once a year. If you're Italian, you've got a favorite hole-in-the-wall specialty market where you buy your homemade pasta if Nonna isn't rolling it out for you in her own kitchen. (And have you ever seen the cookie table at an Italian wedding? If you have a sweet tooth, prepare to swoon!) If you're African-American, I'll bet at least one summer weekend you attend a picnic and spend half a day cooking ribs and listening to jazz.  Stereotypes come with a bit of truth to them.

We haven't exactly integrated here in Pittsburgh.  (Except over football, which is bigger than religion or nationality.) We never got the hang of the melting pot concept. In fact, these days I think people everywhere resist climbing into the melting pot more than ever. It's more important to cling to your family identity.

Lately, I've been wondering why we hold onto our ethnic heritages so tenaciously. I mean, really, my Irish relatives hauled themselves out of the bog and came over here long before the potato famine, for crying out loud. That's almost 200 years ago--long before Ellis Island ever existed. Why do we still get misty when we sing those sappy Irish songs? The Scots are just as bad. I've got a cousin who wears his kilt whenever possible, and I'm not sure he even knows who Betty Burke was. (Sure, I'm poking a little fun. But the only time I cried at my daughter's wedding?  When the pianist played Coming Through the Rye.)

Is it our urge to fit in and belong that makes my neighbor keep his leprechaun statue on his front steps? Or is it his desire to be unique in a crowd? Or both at once?

Maybe it's like being a fan of a sports team.  As a society, we're less social than ever.  We seem to find more and more ways of being alone instead of "interacting" with each other. (The average American commute is getting longer and longer.  Just be glad you don't live in Atlanta or you'd spend more time with your car radio than your children.) So maybe having a team shirt to wear or a flag to wave helps us feel as if we're connected?

I'm also wondering if we're all on separate teams anyway, why do we object so much to more teams coming into the country? But this isn't a political blog, so I guess I won't talk about immigration, but go here for a really great, personal story on the subject.  No kidding. Go here. I'll wait.

                           

There are lots of ways to celebrate your heritage. Summer in my neck of the woods is all about festivals. Every little town has at least one. (Only those nimrods in Punxsutawney have their festival in February. I grew up near there, and we rolled our eyes every Groundhog's Day---before anyone figured out the town's only real income is from the tourists.) My town had a festival that celebrated a certain kind of flower that blooms in June, but we  always sneaked over to the next town for their Italian festival because the food was better. (Although not as good as the Grange suppers.)

Celebrating your ethnic background seems to involve food. Sometimes music.  Occasionally dancing.  Sometimes booze.  (The Slovak club had beer!) Among the Irish, an oral tradition is very big.  Get a few together, and you'll hear some tall tales. By contrast, the Scots toss telephone poles.

The Scots don't exaggerate. Which is big evidence for me that there's something really swimming around Loch Ness. A Scotsman wouldn't mention it if she wasn't really there. In fact, a Scot might have tossed bread crumbs to Nessie for 25 years before thinking to tell anyone about it.

Early in my career, I had an agent who said any good writer could get published simply by telling the tale of how his or her family came to this country. Okay, maybe that particular publishing adage is no longer valid, but when you ask people to share their family story, you're almost guaranteed to hear a blockbuster.

Once upon a time, all our ancestors were among the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. I'm just thinking we ought to be a little more generous to people who weren't able to catch the first bus.

That said, nothing gets my blood pumping more than the skirl of bagpipes.

                       

Comments

[JaniceNW]

Nancy~where I live, SE of Seattle, it's a very diverse population with many "new" immigrants. We have many people from India, mostly Punjabis and Sikhs. Temples have sprung up in several areas and my sons goggled when they saw a man kissing the ground in the driveway of one of these temples. When my boys were younger they thought all the taxi drivers were genies a la Disney's Aladin. There are many from Somalia, Ukraine, Russia, and many Aisian countries. I'm quite loberal and I like the fact I don't live in whiteland which is where I was raised. I do have a problem with who come to our country and then insult it and us, the citizens. If you don't like America go elsewhere. I had a memorable run-in with a Punjabi father one year when I was chair of the Bookfair. Later on when I relayed the story to the administration they told me to let them know if it happens again and they would take care of it. First time I had ever been called a lazy, gossiping American woman.(I so wanted to go all Kung Fu on the guy but I did not as I was raised to be polite to all.) My father is third generation, my mother remained a Canadian citizen until she died. McHub was born in Holland and his parents in Indonesia. Who I am to tell people they cannot be here. I just know I would respect their cultural traditions of I visited their countries.
(BTW my kids are mutts~Scottish, Welsh, English, French, Hungarian, Dutch, Indonesian with a bit of Flemish thrown in.)

[Laura (in PA)]

My mother's parents both came over from Ireland (separately). I love how when my mother says something her mother used to say, it comes out in a brogue. My father grew up in an orphanage, so we don't know as much about his history, though the consensus seems to be that he too was mostly Irish with perhaps a little German thrown in (accounts for the stubborn streak we all have). So this Irish thing explains why I have 8 siblings.

I like my Irish background, and love to hear the sappy Irish songs. When my Dad died, my Mom had "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" played at the end of the mass, because he loved to sing it (after tossing a few back, natch). Thank God she didn't go with "Danny Boy", since his name was Dan, and we all would have been emotional wrecks.

I will say that when my husband and I went to Ireland a few years ago, I got tears in my eyes when I saw the ground from the plane. But other than lamb stew and that brown bread all the B&Bs serve, I much prefer the cuisine of the Italians.

My mother-in-law has a similar story to the one in your link. She grew up in a well-off Jewish family in Prague, and her father had to sneak them out, eventually getting passports that said they were Catholic instead of Jewish, and getting the family out and to England just as the Nazis were marching in. She's a strong woman, who lost quite a few family members to concentration camps. She's in her late 80s and even doctors think she's in her 60s until they find out her age.

I think we all should hold on to a bit of our culture, since it made us who and what we are, and got us to where we are. But there's joy in sharing it with others, and learning ourselves what others hold dear. That's what takes the scary away, and opens up our minds.

[Joyce Tremel]

Nancy, I love bagpipes too! And I have at least 5 CDs of Celtic music that I torture my family with as often as possible. They even took me to an Irish pub for Mother's Day.

I'm mostly Irish on my mother's side, with a little German thrown in. On my dad's side, I'm Scottish and French, and supposedly descended from Robert the Bruce. His daughter married the 4th Lord Oliphant, or something like that. (Oliphant was my maiden name.)

Hubby is full-blooded German. So between the Irish and the German, you can always get really good beer at our house.

[Nancy Martin]

I love these stories. And Joyce, I haven't met a Scot yet who wasn't descended from Robert the Bruce. Me included!

I was just talking to someone over the weekend who wished his family had a pedigree as detailed as the one he has for their dog. But he has lost track of his relatives just two generations ago. Interesting, huh?

[j renee stuart]

Wow Joyce, Nancy - looks like we're more than just 'blog sisters'. Attila-the-Husband is from the Bruce line (supposedly, anyway) through Marorie Bruce (?) uhhh... I think she's the one who married James Stewart who begot blah blah blah... I swear, that line is more prolific than Adam and Eve. But he's all Scottish (we sometimes refer to him as 'goat-boy')
As for the bagpipes, he has a saying - "There's something about the cold north wind that drives a Scotsman mad. 'Cause all his wars are happy - and all his songs are sad." Gee - this makes me want to watch Braveheart.

[j renee stuart]

Oops... that's 'Marjorie' - too early...need coffee...oh crap - must take nephew (also Scottish) to football practice. Catch ya all later

[Joyce Tremel]

That is interesting about the man who lost track of his relatives two generations ago. That's probably what will happen with my mother's side of the family. I always wanted to trace that side, but never had the time to do it. I'm hoping the next generation will, but I doubt it.

My dad's relatives were Mormon, so I don't have to worry about that side. It's traced back as far as the 1500s.

[j renee stuart]

Oohhh... I almost forgot. Sarah's book, The Sleeping Beauty Proposal, comes out today. As soon as I drop off my little Quarterback - I'm heading for the book store. And some coffee...please.

[SarahS]

Bless you J Renee.

Nancy, this is great. My grandmother, Lithuanian and probably illiterate, was forced to "take in the wash" after her husband, well, he wasn't really her husband. She had one of those back in Wisconsin. This guy was more like the guy she got pregnant with, twice. Anyway, after he committed suicide, she had no option but to drop her two sons off with a stranger and head to Baltimore to, uhm, take advantage of incoming sailors, if you get my drift.

Yes, that's right. My grandmother was a whore. I'm thinking the kind of whore as in Glass Castle - GREAT BOOK!!!

Anyway, my father sometimes waxes nostalgically about Lithuania. God knows why.

Guess we all need a tribe. GREAT BLOG!!

[michele martinez]

Love this blog, Nancy! What a great topic.

We really are the gorgeous mosaic, not the melting pot anymore. That's a good thing! In our parents' generation there was too much pressure to assimilate in the face of discrimination. People lost connection to their culture. For my father, this was especially true because he grew up far from the island, without a strong family background. He never taught us any Spanish or talked to us about Puerto Rican culture. It came out in the food, though. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized your average American family didn't eat black beans and rice twice a week. (Still love that!)

On my mom's side (Eastern European Jewish) things were different because I grew up with her parents, my grandparents, as a huge part of my life. Again, it was the food. We'd have Friday night dinners, light the sabbath candles, have that great brisket and kugel and kreplach. That was the sum total of my Jewish experience -- no religion, just really delicious fattening food!

I'm hungry now.

[michele martinez]

P.S. -- Happy pub day, Sarah!

[michele martinez]

And by that I mean "publication." Sarah is not out on a pub crawl.

[Maryann]

I just had the privilege of walking the streets of the town in Scotland where my mom was born, a little suburb of Kilmarnock by the name of Crookedholm. And I too cry at the skirl of the pipes. There are distinct intructions to have a piper at my gravesite, playing Scotland The Brave and Amazing Grace.
I doubt I'm descended from Robert The Bruce, but William Wallace was seen around Ayr,so you never know:O)
My dad was German. Both sets of grandparents "came over on the boat" and ended up in Chicago. We lived in a German-Polish-Italian neighborhood and went to the Catholic School carnivals to eat sausage and peppers and Italian ices and beef. Not to mention those lovely cookies...
We've lived in a university community my entire married life, so diversity is a given...and you can feast on everything from sushi to curry and back again.
I know I was trying to make a point, but the food talk made me hungry.I have to go get a fresh Danish from the Czech bakery across the street!

[toni mcgee causey]

I'm Scotch-Irish-Cajun, with a tiny bit of Italian thrown in... or as my mom puts it, not a quiet bone in my body. Every gathering we had was more about who could top the last person's tallest tale. I don't think I heard any actual truth for the first fifteen years. And even then, it's a bit questionable. Like the whole "if you have sex before you're married, your nose will fall off" thing. I'm thinking they made that one up.

I saw Sarah's book last week... going out to get it today (I didn't have my wallet then or I'd have grabbed it early!)

[ramona]

In honor of all the Scots on board, I will tell my Alexander McCall Smith story. This past spring, I saw him at the National Authors Festival, a fantastic event sponsored by the Washington DC Junior League and Laura Bush. (Yes, that Laura Bush. I went anyway.) So, the speakers speak under these huge tented pavillions. Scott Turow enthralled a massive crowd, and then it was AMS's turn. I was standing off to the side, and during the changeover, a stampede of little old ladies rushed the stage and stood in the aisles, as close as they could get, even though there were scattered seats available. I had been on my feet all day and was mystified why anyone would pass up a chance to grab a seat, until AMS came out--in a kilt. AMS is quite cute and very charming, and he would look down teasingly at these women, whom I soon realized were his groupies!

Now, and very important to the story, it was a breezy day in DC, so now and then a gust flapped through the tent and, well, there was tittering. Lots and lots of tittering. After which AMS would giggle adorably. I'd never read one of his books before, but now I am a fan.

My cultural heritage: French. Little bit of Italian (Venice) from my dad's side, but I'm French, French and more French.

[Debby]

I have been lucky enough to have one side of my family due a family tree all the way back to the 1700's in Germany. And then to see when they arrived in Pennsylvania, and started the melting pot effect is neat.

I am Mexican-English on my dad's side. Michele? My dad was the same way with spanish. He didn't want me growing up with an accent that might induce derogatory treatment, so preferred that I speak English first and foremost. Sad though, as I am the most un-mexican mexican imaginable due to my allergy to raw onions and peppers of any kind.

On my mom's I am English, Irish, Scot, Welsh, German, Dutch (Netherlands). No italian or polish though. :) This is the side that traced back and determined that I am also related to Smith, Schmitt, Smythe, Schultz, etc.

As for my immigrant story? When my grandmother (who just turned 101 on June 6th, by the way), was a child, her dad (my great-grandpa) was shot and wounded by some of Pancho Villas banditos. He gathered up the family and moved north to El Paso de Norte in hopes of a safer and better life for his family. He 'waited' at the border for permission to emmigrate, and worked hard to show his allegiance to his adopted country from that day forward. Never was the mexican flag flown. Never did he whine about missing the 'old country'. He loved his new country, and even though he never learned english, he adapted to fit in and meld.

Now that Sarah's book is officially released, I can go pick up all of the copies that I need. I am still trying to decide if I will give them as way early Christmas presentss, or make them suffer. Hmmmmmm.

[Kerry, The Martial Tart]

What a great blog! The way I see it, we humans are naturally (evolutionarily) social creatures who have always had to rely on each other to survive. Unfortunately, that's a two-edged sword: we needed to rely on each other, but that's in large part so we could wrest resources away from those Others. The result, I think, is a natural tendency to try to find ways to identify ourselves as members of xyz group and to distinguish ourselves from abc group.

I'm about 3rd generation on both sides. My paternal granadmother's family is Irish to the core (have I mentioned that all 3 of her sibs joined the Church? One great-uncle even served at the Vatican). They came over during the potato famine, made it west (probably in covered wagons) and homesteaded in Montana. I've seen the sod-roofed log cabin where she grew up. Grandpa was Scots-Irish, a WWI doughboy, gold miner, mountain guide, and finally owner of a bar and grill. Bring on the bagpipes and Celtic music, any day, anywhere!

My maternal grandmother was pretty purely English; one of her aunts was, reportedly, a lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria. Family legend has it that her father was an illegitimate offspring of the Duke of Wellington. I'm pretty sure that puts me in line for the throne :) My maternal grandfather was Czechoslovakian (depending on where they were drawing the border that day), a member of a mining family. Of course, the Irish and Czech ancestors would have been very much Other when they arrived here. Grammy and Grandpa met in New Kensington, PA, where they were typical blue-collar workers in that steel town. I still have a bunch of relatives there, but haven't seen any of them in decades.

My husband's paternal grandparents were German; Omi is/was Jewish (she isn't observant). Opi managed, just barely, to get them out of Germany via Bulgaria just before the borders were closed. The family still has photos of my father-in-law as a child, playing in the snow in Siberia during one of the rest stops of the train they took across Russia. Omi's German family is gone now, although Opi's brother'families are still living in Germany.

My daughter (by a different husband) has, in addition to the Irish/Scots/English/Czech, some miscellaneous Scandinavian and just a drop or two of Cherokee to make things interesting.

I personally love our American mosaic, and wish more of our fellow citizens could embrace it, as our blogging community clearly does!

[Marcia in OK]

Nancy - great blog topic, and Happy Publication day. I have SB on my list for this weekend.

Heritage/Ancestry. . . I'm Irish and Cherokee Indian. Our family "immigration" story is about the Trail of Tears from the Carolinas to Indian Territory. Many of my ancestors were in Oklahoma long before the first land runs. My great-great grandmother and her many sisters were forced to attend "Christian" boarding schools, cut their hair, and speak only English.

Food - Indian Fry bread, brown (pinto) beans, and corn on the cob.

In recent years, I've been making serious attempts to get my daughters to Native American related activities. We've explored beautiful art (pottery, paiting, beading)in museums and been to Pow Wow's. Last Fall, we danced together in a gourd dance at the Pow Wow and it was SOOO cool.

I also have dreams of taking them to Ireland. And, I love Celtic music. (Daughters have Irish/Celtic names, blonde hair from their German Dad, and Indian skin with light eyes. What a mix.)

[Mary Alice and Mystery Lovers]

Congrats to Sarah celebrating the publication of The Sleeping Beauty Proposal. Should any fans out there want a signed copy, do let us know as Sarah's here Saturday

http://www.mysterylovers.com/index.php?target=products&mode=view&product_id=45724

[j renee stuart]

Yay ! I'm back from football practice, with a copy of TSBP clutched in my hot, happy little hands. I started to read it while waiting for my nephew, but I didn't want him to think that I wasn't watching, so, everytime he stopped and looked at me, I'd put down the book, smile, and give him a cutsie little finger-wiggle wave. Only problem ? That *wasn't* my nephew. Hey - in their little helmets and jerseys - I'm sorry, but they all look alike. Turns out my nephew wasn't even on the field. He was inside doing weight training. Great - now the rest of the team thinks that his crazy aunt is some kind of 'Mrs.Robinson-esque' predator. Oy ! Maybe I should just let him borrow my car. Are twelve year olds allowed to drive ? I guess I could give him cab fare...
Hmmm... a signed copy of Sarah's book from Mystery Lovers, huh ? Gee, should I get a second copy ? Let me think about that (1/2 nanosecond later...) Sure. I'll donate my first copy to the library (after I finish reading it, of course).
But back to the blog subject. My family is PA Dutch. All German, with just a touch of Welsh Crone thrown in for the magic. It is interesting, how the early influx of immigrants strove to assimilate into this new culture, at the cost of losing their own precious heritage. Several years ago, there was a book by Faith Popcorn, called (I think) Cliquing. It gave a lot of insight as to why people 'connect' with different groups.
By the way - Sarah... I'm not sure if it's the same in Lithuanian but, in Russian - 'DYEH-vushka' means 'girl'and 'deh-VU-shka' means 'whore'. Maybe she just got lost in the translation.
And Marcia - your daughters sound beautiful.

[Josh]

Sarah, I just don't like the word "whore." I think it's much more judgmental than "prostitute," at least as those words' meaning has developed. It's too bad that your grandmother's economic and social condition required her to sell herself to survive, but people have to do what they have to do, and it isn't fair using demeaning terms 100 years later.

OTOH, your mileage may vary.

[Cassie]

I learned a new word today! "Skirl." I will attempt to use it in a sentence in the next few days, but I admit in advance that it will be a challenge.

Sarah, looking forward to seeing you this weekend!

[Nancy Martin]

Josh, I prefer "lady of the evening."

Cassie, "skirl" is the way a human voice might sound when yelling incoherently at--oh, I dunno--a puppy who's chewing the furniture.

[Mary Emanuelson]

There was a great line in the movie "Stripes" - Bill Murray says (more or less, sorry not to be more precise here) "Americans are mutts."

Read "Royal Babylon" by Karl Shaw, to see what happens when the blood lines are kept "pure".

I'm a big fan of mutts, being one myself!

[Rita Scott]

On Dad's side, Great Grandmother was Cherokee, Grandpa came from County Donegal.
Mom's side was the Dalton gang.
We were just raised as Americans.
The neighborhood that built up around us was 95% Jewish and their kids weren't allowed to play with the goya.