St. Patrick's Day
Today, I wore bright green socks
hidden beneath my black jeans
and dress shoes, first to my daughter's
elementary school play, and then
to a birthday party with twenty
members of two families, and I
can easily admit that the socks
were a silly choice made out of
the habits I built in my childhood.
I may be forgiven, I think, for
wanting to be part of the fun, even
if most of the kids, my nieces
and nephews, wouldn't think
to pinch me, or even care to check
to see if I am in compliance with
a cultural agreement that none
of us fully understand. I'm not
even sure why, at 50 years old,
my questionable Irish heritage
matters, even in light of my
love for Notre Dame football
and my lapsed Catholicism,
which truthfully, seems just as
quaint or maybe hopeful. Perhaps
we do what we do for all the same
reasons: to give shape to our days,
to belong together through shared
symbols, and to enforce some rules.
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