I had a dream last night about a load of Irish-Americans that I have known over the course of my life being all gathered together for a Christmas party in a small town in County Cork. I wanted to think it was at a restaurant in my grandmother’s village, but no such restaurant exists there. At least, not to my conscious knowledge. This crew of people included friends, colleagues and former employers, like John McGee and Paul Connor, both of whom were dressed in matching Aran Island sweaters and drinking Jameson’s and Guinness and having a ball.<\/p>\n
There was another person there, who shall remain nameless. He has never been my boss, but he likes to lord himself over others as if he was the boss of all. I am not even really sure if he has any Irish in him, but I have recently learned that people with his surname have married in with the Carney family from Springfield, MA and The Great Blasket Island.<\/p>\n
Anyway, he must have been pretty well into his cups as I social butterflied on by him, looking for my set down, half-drank pint of Murphy’s. He grabbed me to talk for a moment about being both Irish and American. He summed it up pretty well. “Being Irish-American, we can’t really say that we are Irish. We aren’t. We were not born there. No matter how much Irish blood we might have, we are not Irish. Being Irish-American and wanting to be accepted as Irish by the Irish is like being on an eternal waiting list.”<\/p>\n
Like being on an eternal waiting list. That phrase has been ringing in my head all day.<\/p>\n
In the last few weeks, I have been thinking about this subject, so I am not shocked that I finally had a dream about it. I have begun looking at what I am, if not Irish. I thought I was a Gael, but I have learned that there were no such people, outside of the various groups that spoke the Gaelic languages. Where did they come from? Gaelistan? Gaeland? The place doesn’t exist. For now, I will take my comfort in the recent returns of my DNA origin results (NW Ireland) and my dual-citizenship.<\/p>\n
It is an odd question, though. And one that we all seem to wrestle with.
\n“Who am I?”
\nMise m\u00e9.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I had a dream last night about a load of Irish-Americans that I have known over the course of my life being all gathered together for a Christmas party in a small town in County Cork. I wanted to think … Continue reading