Reports From The Nursery (Part Sixteen)
By Alexis, In Her Own Words
I am getting darned close to two years old, which in the realm of the human world is an eyelash more than the “infant” stage.
I get it. To those in regular contact with me —Mom and Dad, say; or Grandma and Grandpa— I’m still that oft-frightening bundle of Walking Peril, mindlessly wobbling around the room in search of the next near-miss with injury or mayhem.
But don't let that fool you; unseen by adult eyes, my cognitive faculties are as sharp as the corners of the coffee table I keep bumping into (not all my family’s fears are completely unfounded). And as I’ve grown more accustomed to this mortal world, I’ve become rather adept at recognizing when something unusual is happening.
Like it is now. For a couple of days, I’ve noticed that folks are parading around wearing clothing or scarves or pin-on ornaments in various shades of green.
(By the way, not everybody can pull that color off successfully; some folks, in fact, look as if a leprechaun upchucked on parts of their ensemble. I’m not being snarky; it’s just a fact.)
Worse, even the food around here has caught this Emerald Plague: apparently, there’s something called a “Shamrock Shake,” a straw-sipped concoction of a verdant hue not otherwise found in Nature. Next, I suppose somebody will invent a green beer, heaven forbid; or contaminate my breakfast cupcake with jade-tinged sprinkles. Already, I’ve noticed my peers engaging in Kelly-colored wardrobe selections and T-shirts, some featuring a “Fun Sized” adult who is ready to fight at the drop of a hat.
To my mind, all this borders on some weird strain of anarchy. Or would, had I not overheard the allegedly more mature humans around me speak of an event dubbed “St. Patrick's Day.”
I was determined to investigate this further.
•. •. •
According to a conversation between Dad and Grandpa, this Patrick-fellow lived on a green island populated by small, green-clad creatures — “leprechauns,” they called themselves— who had somehow acquired pots of gold…which, for no discernable reason at all, they continually hid at the base of rainbows. What? Have they ever heard of a bank?
Likely not, as these leprechauns appear to live a completely perilous life. For one thing, if a human caught one of these Little People, the captor got to seize the gold. And keep it. Now, this seems both criminal and highly unfair, but it does appear to explain the enthusiasm so many human people have for St. Patrick’s Day: it’s a celebration of what I must assume is a fine Irish tradition of kidnapping for ransom.
But I could be wrong; it could be something else entirely. I recently overheard Mom saying that St. Patrick is famous for driving all the snakes out of Ireland. This makes more sense and at least doesn’t involve a felony. Besides, snakes and Moms are natural enemies —I witnessed a meeting of the two of them last summer on a stroller-excursion near the pond; yes, there was screaming involved—and my guess is that Irish Moms (and by extension, snake-phobic Moms everywhere else too) were four-square behind a guy who knew how to get rid of them. I can see a mothers’ club organizing parades to celebrate it.
But logical as that theory might be, a chance comment from Grandma indicates that there may be a loftier motive behind Paddy homage.
Grandma, the matriarchal sage, is wearing a bright green scarf, but it is less her attire than her words that interest me. She mentions to Mom that St. Patrick used the three leaf clover to explain the Holy Trinity to the Irish pagans. This botanical catechism is said to have facilitated the conversion of many otherwise lost souls.
Now, this is a theory I can get my teeth into. As my faithful readers may remember, much of my pre-birth existence had been spent loitering around the environs of Heaven, as I waited for my turn to show up as an earthly infant. While I’ve lost some memories of that time —the more recent human experiences progressively push out the celestial, until recall of Heavenly knowledge is lost completely— I can still appreciate a rousing discussion of the theological type.
Still… I Dunno. Leveraging local flora for theological instruction certainly is a clever strategy for any missionary faced with an indigenous population who already believed in small green critters with pots full of gold, I guess. For myself, I remain skeptical about the efficacy of plant-based metaphors in mass religious conversions. The strategy risks confusing the target audience even more.
For instance, take my comrades in arms. I don’t care how eloquent St. Patrick is, if he showed that bunch a shamrock, most of them would just put it in their mouth. More likely, their nose. After all, they didn’t choose to wear matching green shorts-’n-sox to Storytime for Tots; they care less about theology than they do about a cupful of pink, blue and yes, green Froot Loops doled out at snack time. Their understanding of St. Patrick's Day is superficial at best. These kids are focused more on the pretty emerald colors (though I do see the appeal of a confused image— say, of a Chevrolet-full of departing snakes, Pat at the wheel, of course.) Matters of historical or religious significance pale in comparison.
But that’s probably fine. By any measure, St. Patrick's Day has transcended its historical and religious origins. When you think about it —when I do, at least— the day has evolved into a celebration of community, cultural identity, and, perhaps most importantly, joy. The wearing of a certain color, the riotous parades, even the consumption of whatever is in the various odd-smelling ethnic delicacies are expressions of a shared heritage and a collective sense of belonging. You don’t even have to actually be Irish to enjoy it; rather, on St. Patrick’s Day, everybody already is.
For some reason, that thought makes me giggle. Maybe because I am almost a two-year-old human child: arguably, we can giggle at anything.
But maybe it is because in this moment, I understand that the true essence of St. Patrick's Day lies not in historical accuracy or theological metaphors or even fantasies about leprechaun’s gold— but in the simple, shared act of coming together to celebrate life, love, and laughter. It’s a very Irish emotion; it’s a very human emotion, too.
For the glorious experience of that, we can all put up with a green-dyed world for a day, no?
— end —
(EDITOR’S NOTE: Alexis will return to these pages in future editions. After all, Easter is coming… and she has some questions about all those eggs, like ‘How rich is the Easter Bunny?’ How can they afford to give them out?)
