I have a long association with St. Patrick. My first eight years of school were at at Patrick’s Elementary School. I belonged to St. Patrick’s Shamrocks drill team from when I was 10 until I was 16 when I moved away. I remember marching in South Boston on St. Patrick’s Day. I also remember trying to avoid the merrymakers who had already been sipping green beer and wanted to march with us. We are Irish. I just have to give my name and people know right away. Really, what else could Kathleen Ryan be? My sisters are Sheila and Maureen.

I can remember St. Patrick’s Day at my parents’ house. My mother always made a huge dinner. She didn’t use corn beef as she preferred a shoulder roast. My father loved those boiled dinners. One St. Patrick’s Day, though, the potatoes disappeared. They had fallen apart in the pan. My father hunted and hunted anyway hoping one had survived. His disappointment was palpable.

Some years my parents invited friends and family. The kitchen was where everyone seemed to settle. The back door was always left open for air what with the heat of the stove, the number of people and the cigarette smoke. It never took long back then before the singing started. My father had a great voice. I remember him singing all the Irish songs. I remember my mother’s friend Becki who went as far back as high school sitting in the same seat at all my parents’ parties, her back to the kitchen windows. I can still see her with a drink in one hand, a cigarette in another and her voice raised in song. My Uncle Jack would stand with my Dad, and the two of them would sing with their arms across each others’ shoulders. Those were great parties.

I’m heading to my friend’s house tonight for corned beef and cabbage. We’ll raise our glasses to toast St. Patrick, the Irish, the Ring of Kerry, leprechauns and whatever else comes to mind. Maybe, after a few toasts, we’ll do a bit of a jig, in keeping with the day of course.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!