St. Patrick's Day in 2020: Stuck At Home Remembering Family

There are a few days a year when we are called to reflect and think about the year behind: birthdays, New Years Day, Thanksgiving.

As an Irish-Catholic kid from Boston, St. Patrick’s Day is one of those days for me and for many of my friends. This morning a friend on my college email chain (which has survived nearly 14 years…) wrote that he had completely forgot that today was St. Patrick’s Day and recalled want we might have been up to on Holy Cross’ campus or the years just out of college (read: debauchery).

I read the email as I was listening to Irish music while my wife roamed the apartment in green. I hadn’t forgotten.

Yes, we’re older now. No massive St. Patrick’s Day parties for us anymore (especially this year…). No parades. No kegs and eggs. Maybe some year we’ll dip into some nostalgic haze and try it one more time, but for now, most of us let the day slip by or honor it with a pint of Guinness or a dram of Irish whiskey (or both…).

It’s impossible to listen to Irish music and not be transported to somewhere else in time. For me, the place that always comes to mind is the second floor of the house I grew up in. One summer, three of my dad’s siblings and their spouses came over from Ireland and England for an extended vacation. During their stay, there was plenty of drinking. One daily trip to the local liquor store was barely enough to keep the good stuff flowing. After a day of relaxing, sightseeing, and long walks we’d all sit down and have dinner and then move upstairs where the bar was located. We had a pool table up there, and some games would be played. The windows open letting the summer night air in.

Inevitably, my uncles would start singing. Each uncle belting out their favorite tune by heart — a capella. Their voices come to mind so easily when I focus on the memory, the low tones uninhibited by the whiskey. One song would end and a choir of, “Ah go on and sing something, will you? Ah go on!”

Tommy and Charlie were the biggest hams, but I even remember my dad, who only sang in church, joining in the fun. I’m sure he was drunk, but I’m not sure on what: alcohol or family. Probably a little bit of both.

The songs continued to play this morning as I worked, but I was stopped in my tracks by a song that for whatever reason always stops me in my tracks: “The Town I Loved So Well.” I’m not sure what it is about the song, maybe it’s the fact the Paddy Reilly’s voice (my favorite version is this one) reminds me of my dad and standing next to me in church, nudging me with his elbow urging me to sing, holding the lyrics closer to me, and raising his voice slightly to show that even he’s willing to do it. The lyrics in “The Town I Loved So Well” are striking, telling the story of songwriter Phil Coulter’s hometown, Derry, which was nowhere near where my dad grew up in Ireland. However, I picture his childhood similar to the one described in the song:

In my memory I will always see
The town that I have loved so well
Where our school played ball by the Gasyard wall
And we laughed through the smoke and the smell
Going home in the rain running up the dark lane
Past the jail and down behind the Fountain
Those were happy days in so many many ways
In the town I have loved so well.

Now it’s 2020. The singers from those summer nights are all gone: Tommy, Charlie, and my dad. St. Patrick’s Day leaves me thinking about the nonsense I participated in for a solid decade.

However, and more importantly, it also reminds me of the people that have passed through my life. Those Irish characters that were lost far too early, with too many songs left to sing and many drams of whiskey left to drink.

Considering what’s going on throughout the world today, St. Patrick’s Day 2020 will be full of quiet moments in houses remembering those Irish characters and the songs they sang so well. And maybe they’ll shed a tear or two.

Sláinte.