Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone! It was just two days ago that my father told me that we were Irish! He took a DNA test through Ancestry.com a few months back and discovered this. Which I think is great. I’ve always loved the Irish culture and am now proud to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day as a true part Irish woman! Tonight, we will dine on corned beef and cabbage and I’m decked out in my green today.
In the spirit of today, I would like to share with all of you one of my favorite St. Patrick’s Day stories from when I was a kid.
I was about 7 years old, at the prime of believing anything my parents would tell me. I was terrified of Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Leprechauns – really any of those made up childhood stories that were meant to entertain and thrill young children, scared the absolute crap out of me. Don’t ask me why – I was a weird kid.
I remember having a conversation with my mom the night before St. Patrick’s Day. I can’t remember the details but I think I was terrified Leprechauns would come into my room while I slept. She assured me I would be fine and I slept soundly that night.
The next morning I woke up and was getting ready for school when I noticed the strangest thing. A tiny footprint on my closet door.
It almost looked like someone had taken a stamp of a footprint, dipped it in black ink and stamped my closet. I demanded that my mother admit it was her who had done it, but she swore up and down she hadn’t, and seemed about as confused as I was. For those of you who know me personally, you know that my mother used to be a local Seattle area DJ. That day, she went to work and relayed this story to all of Seattle. I’ll always remember March 17th as the day that all of Seattle laughed at me. *sigh*
To this day, I have no idea where that footprint came from. Maybe my mom will come clean 21 years later. Or maybe – just maybe, they exist.