Being Irish in America

What’s it like being in America
When your heritage is Irish
This country’s a poor replica
Of the far off land you cherish
Grandfather arrived here at eleven
Sorely missing his land of heaven
His parents clung to Irish ways
Living them out all of their days
To keep from deep depression
And their aching hearts to lessen
They needed their Irish expression

Its ironic this experience in the land of many
How each generation tells the stories of old
Filled with rainbows and gold, lovingly told
Oh the stories I heard of Ireland were plenty
So us children growing up would be aware
And we’d agree to live here with utmost care

“We may be in America, but no one’s going native”
Resonated through my life like a battle cry
However, my Father dutifully handed it down
There was no “why Dad?”, you just comply
Or, little lassie you’ll be wearing a frown
To lay all this on us in a land we conquered
Certainly did form me, giving much to ponder
Like making sure I had the “the gift of gab”
So no one could ever call me drab
That was a good one, yup
Now I can barely shut up!

Thank you Grandfather, Father and Mother
For helping me feel like a complete alien here
Sprinkling love with just the right amount of fear
As if the Irish didn’t have enough superstitions
Like the Moon, wee leprechauns and the Devil
That I really never understood on a spiritual level
Irish superstitions, don’t you think, can be overdone

Like “lucky” four leaf clovers, “I’m looking over”
That darn little four leaf was surely my good luck
And as I feverishly looked for that fleeting clover
You know the four leafs I could never find or pluck
Spending literally hours trying to find in the yard
I would think about the Irish stories really hard
Letting them sink in, God forbid I would run amok
I’m naming a few superstitions that stuck like glue,
As you laughed with glee because I believed you!

You just live your life in the Celtic way
From your Irish roots you never stray
Your Grandfather was a mighty Irishman
In this new country he had a fierce plan
To live as if he never ever left his Ireland home
I’m sure he never sang “where the buffalo roam”

Grandfather, I think that was just a little crazy
Very emotional, traditional and a bit lazy
‘Cause now your granddaughter is losing her grip
And needs to catch the next space ship!