(This is an entry from a long lost blog I had started and promptly lost LOL ... I finally found it and decided for the sake of my sanity to just re-post it here)
I read the gripe about the mass celebration of St Patrick’s day by many who are only Irish for that day and the rest of the time you hear nothing about their heritage. My friend I heard you and here is my NON St Patrick’s day response.
This am as I pulled one of the last pieces of soda bread from the wrapper my mind went back to the days of eating “fried” soda bread and bacon with my Grandpa. MMMM he made the most FABULOUS soda bread (sadly the recipe went with him to his grave). I remembered sitting the tiny (busy) kitchen of that Detroit brown stone sipping tea and having a wee bit o breakfast. We used to have tea at that table every night before bed … grandpa and I! Those were wonderful happy times. I knew I was totally loved.
My dear Grandpa Thomas James McMaster immigrated here from County Dunmurry in the early forties (Great Famine time). A part of the fair isle (Ireland) that is popular with golfers (as he told it – and he did love golf). Never having visited there, I know very little of Ireland. The stories told to me by my Grandpa, the tales of an intern (lovely Lauren-Michelle) and the recollections of a wonderful book (can’t remember the name of it – hey I am old) that I read long ago when I did readings from a book list for a local High School teacher are all I know. I do hope one day to visit and see this place of my heritage myself!
I do know his heart was rooted in Ireland. Every Christmas Day Grandpa would pull out the ancient bottle of Bushmill’s Whisky and drink a quiet shot to his homeland by himself. We would all be quite respectful in this time. Unlike the popular caricature of the drunken Irish man, Grandpa was a teetotaler. He never talked much about the early days of his American experience.. he had been quite successful in the auto industry when I was born. I do know it must have been hard. No group was considered lower than an Irishman in America during the 1850s. Most who came here were so very poor. They had heavy heart of shame and longing for their homeland. It is said that the ships they arrived on were so crowded and the conditions so terrible, that they were referred to as Coffin Ships. Many called this their American Wake for they feared they would never see Ireland again. Grandpa did get to return a couple of times and I so loved those stories of my Aunt Mable and Uncle David!
LOL those stories were amazing. He told of a wee little man in Ireland that could run so fast that the rain did not make him wet. Embarrassingly I believed that story until I was 12 .. when He laughingly told me it was a tall tale! When I was a teen we would have the most wonderfully heated Irish debates. Me with all my vast knowledge and he (in my eyes) just an Irish rube! One day I recall arguing over the difference between socialism and communism ..he was not seeing my point so I got the Dictionary out to prove myself. He looked at me and said, “who the hell is Webster and what the hell does he know I say …” LOL OH I loved that man.
He also taught me of faith. He was not an avid church attendee but always got me spiffy’d up for Easter and took me to the local African American church services. One of my dearest memories were of him sitting at the piano singing “The Old Rugged Cross” in a brogue so thick that you had to know the song to know what he sang. No music has ever been that wonderful to me!
He lived in Detroit and as long as I have memory all of his neighbors were African American. He and grandma were the only white people who lived in their neighborhood that I have ever known of anyway – he hated the white flight – thought people should learn to live together Our neighborhood was extremely impoverished. He never seemed to notice and so we followed suit. I remember learning all the jump rope games from the neighbor girls. Grandpa would just smile! He loved his neighbors and they fiercely watched out for him and Alma when they had gotten too old to do it themselves.
He also was very fond of Oldmobiles and had a new one every year (really) til he was very old. He took such good care of them. I would love helping him wash the cars. I will never forget a time washing the cars and I was playing with the hose .. he said “now Lisa you would not spray your OLD Grandpa would you?? Sadly I did. I can still see the SHOCK on his face! Another time my sis Deb and I “drove” one of his new beauties into the ditch near my Great-Grandmas house. That poor man! Nope we did not get a spanking .. he did not ever spank us. (forgive the poor quality of this pic)
So why do I celebrate ... ‘tis true that my family LOVES corned beef and cabbage … but do know that it is not necessarily Ireland that my heart commemorates on St Patrick’s Day! It is for that dear man who took me in as a tiny infant and provided for me til I was 11 when my dad remarried and then re-assumed that responsibility for a few years after that – I was a very ANGRY kid who used to runaway but he always took me in. He called me his Miss America! Even when I had fallen to my lowest and arrived at his house homeless and addicted to heroin he took me in. (He wisely sent me a one way non refundable ticket from New York City to Detroit) He made me stay by his side 24/7 (literally) for nearly a year til I was clean! Then he let me go. When he lay dying of pancreatic cancer he called me to him and said “Lisa when I get to heaven I am going to ask God for special permission to watch over you.” I look forward to the day when I see him again to hug him and tell him he has done a great job! The I will sit with him again and have that nice wee spot of tea together!!
These days as I look at the lovely family God has given me it makes me sad that he never got to meet them BUT I do think Grandpa would approve!
