When a guy who is in large part the product of nineteenth century Irish immigrants is born on St. Patrick’s Day, he is saddled with certain responsibilities to his kin. First, he is considered a possible ‘second coming’ of the Messiah by his pure-bred Hibernian grandmother, great aunts and uncles. After they recover from the crushing disappointment of reality, these same leprechaun-sized relations - descended from the great clans of Moore, Connolly, Burke, Shaughnessy, O’Connor, and O’Leary - place great expectations on him to carry on the traditions of west Cork, the Kerry peninsulas, and the Connaught.Blessed by his parents with the gift of gab, the love of music, humor, and stories, and an acute – almost religious – appreciation for stouts 
and ales, he develops a deep sense of identity with the Irish people and their land. To celebrate this day of his birth, this day of Naomh Phadraig, in the land of his ancestors has left him feeling lucky, blessed, and loved. This personal grail quest – denied him by mere hours some twenty years prior by a North Sea storm – has finally been fulfilled.
And what a birthday it was. By mid-morning it was sixty degrees out with a cloudless, calm, blue sky. The greatest gift, however, was that of family. Imagine the joy of this same fellow as he watches his nine-year old son march and play the tin whistle with the Scoil Chaitriona band in the grandest parade in all of Eire. The fact that his wife, eldest son, and parents were also there and wearing silly green hats was just icing on the cake (which happened to be a rendition of a giant pint of Guinness).
and ales, he develops a deep sense of identity with the Irish people and their land. To celebrate this day of his birth, this day of Naomh Phadraig, in the land of his ancestors has left him feeling lucky, blessed, and loved. This personal grail quest – denied him by mere hours some twenty years prior by a North Sea storm – has finally been fulfilled.
And what a birthday it was. By mid-morning it was sixty degrees out with a cloudless, calm, blue sky. The greatest gift, however, was that of family. Imagine the joy of this same fellow as he watches his nine-year old son march and play the tin whistle with the Scoil Chaitriona band in the grandest parade in all of Eire. The fact that his wife, eldest son, and parents were also there and wearing silly green hats was just icing on the cake (which happened to be a rendition of a giant pint of Guinness).
After being blessed by St. Patrick himself at the end of the parade, the family shared a celebratory lunch at the Western’s pub, before relaxing at home. In the evening, birthday man and his beautiful bride strolled for hours along Salthill’s promenade and watched the sunset over Inis Mór and Galway Bay.
Not a bad day to turn forty-six.
We'll leave you with a bit of Na Banna as Scoil Caitriona in the Galway St. Patrick's Day Parade . . .
Happy Birthday my friend. I wore me Kilt to work...yes no undergarments much to my wife's dismay
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