by G. Sax, @gsax
Today's the day us citizens of Saint Paul make way for Saint Patrick.
During the day, families with Irish surnames roll through downtown's streets proudly waving placards with those names for all to see. And anyone else who wants to be Irish for the day rolls through the city on party buses to establishments with names like The Dubliner, O'Gara's, Patrick McGovern's, and Shamrock's.
On most days, St. Paulites are awash in Keillorian gentility. On this day, the hatches need be battened down.
It is the day that I ride shotgun with names like Sheehan, Collins, and Brennan…and Guinness and Jameson. Bagpipes bleat unto open sky. College kids and retirees wander alike with eyes aglaze. Leprechauns ride Irish wolfhounds.
St. Paul is the patron saint of truth, and St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland. So please allow me to indulge in a touch of Irish truth.
I learned just yesterday that I'm about a quarter Irish. I always knew I had some in me but not that much.
Last week I shared that I was raised by a single mother. Later in life, I reconnected with my father and his extended family. Nobody was more thrilled than my grandmother Dorothy. The first time she saw me as an adult was just over two years ago. I was afraid she wouldn't let go of me ever again. Literally, her grip was inescapable, even at 80.
Dorothy was fiercely proud of her Irish heritage, and it showed yesterday at her memorial service under the roof of yet another saint, Saint Pascal Baylon, on the city's East Side.
Today, before the parade in downtown Saint Paul, there will be one final ceremony for Dorothy at Fort Snelling.
And we will wear green.
This made me cry. Thanks for mentioning Grandma.