March 16, 2008 12:32 am
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According to my mother, there were two kinds of people in the world: those that were Irish and those who wanted to be. One of her pet peeves was to see a non-Irishman in a green shirt on March 17. Yep, mom was Irish.
She was a tiny lady — barely five feet tall, and possessed the renowned Irish pride and Irish temper. Although our home in Southeast Missouri was populated mostly with non-Irish, it never stopped her from speaking her mind whenever she or another member of her sex was overlooked at the voting booth or ignored at the grocery — or having her place in line usurped by a man. She became quite vocal then and dismissed it with an icy stare from those big brown eyes.
I was 20 when she told me she had marched in St. Louis with the Suffragettes when they were campaigning for the right to vote.
I was not surprised.
Upon re-reading what I have just written, I realize I said more about my mother than St. Patrick and the Irish people. However, she embodied all the virtues of the Irish along with a few of their vices. So whenever St. Patrick's Day comes around, I remember my mom.
Here's lookin' at you, lady!
Mary Culpepper
Chunk
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