Irish Dancers doing a 3 Handed DanceWhen did Disneyland replace Ireland?
I had to hide yesterday as I was assailed with loud banging, screeching, and vomituous green beer.
Leprechauns have been replaced by Irish dancers with red headed wigs and silly skaters costumes. These dancers are now leaping about, high kicking and prancing in an imitation of old country dances. Hundreds of dollars spent on the wigs and garrish costumes to rival any Goofy or Mickey Mouse.
Funny that the dances were really imported from England and America. The straight backed kicking was much more modest considering it was supervised by the priests for any hint of sexuality.
Irishness has become the most adolescent imagery that I can think of.
Horrible little angels, leprechauns, and sparkling shamrocks have become a parady of my own roots.
My mother's family come from Wexford and Cork. My paternal grandfather came from St. John's, Newfoundland. Both my grandfathers were toe steppers and played penny flutes. On St. Patricks Day the Protestents threw bags of flaming manure from windows above parades organized by the Church. Catholics returned the favour on St. George's day. Churches were burnt down in Peterborough, Ontario until the 1970's. Children knew what side of the street to walk on even in my prairie town.
The irony is that Saint Patrick has not really been recognized by the church as a saint for decades. Same ironies exist in Christmas celebrations.
People have forgotten, I suppose that the reason for such sloppy sentimentality and adolescent imagery is that most our Irish ancestors came here when they were adolescent. The vast majority were kids under the age of 24. They were without restraints from family and church and formed their own little gangs and communities for survival in the harshest circumstances possible. In Ireland on St. Patrick's Day people went to church and came home to a nice meal and a cup of tea. They certainly, until recently,didn't get dough faced on Green Guiness.
Yesterday I rebeled and ate a little dinner of game hen and stuffing. The only green at the table was the broccolli and green onions. It is the first time I haven't made my Broonie or Colchannon.
I love my Irish heritage. I love the story telling and the music. I own beautiful pieces of whitework embroidery and prayer books. But I can't ever forget that the people celebrating St. Patrick's Day need to remember that this holiday is really one of the marks of division for the Irish people. St. Patrick wasn't a leprechaun. He was a priest. He wasn't even Irish!
I had to hide yesterday as I was assailed with loud banging, screeching, and vomituous green beer.
Leprechauns have been replaced by Irish dancers with red headed wigs and silly skaters costumes. These dancers are now leaping about, high kicking and prancing in an imitation of old country dances. Hundreds of dollars spent on the wigs and garrish costumes to rival any Goofy or Mickey Mouse.
Funny that the dances were really imported from England and America. The straight backed kicking was much more modest considering it was supervised by the priests for any hint of sexuality.
Irishness has become the most adolescent imagery that I can think of.
Horrible little angels, leprechauns, and sparkling shamrocks have become a parady of my own roots.
My mother's family come from Wexford and Cork. My paternal grandfather came from St. John's, Newfoundland. Both my grandfathers were toe steppers and played penny flutes. On St. Patricks Day the Protestents threw bags of flaming manure from windows above parades organized by the Church. Catholics returned the favour on St. George's day. Churches were burnt down in Peterborough, Ontario until the 1970's. Children knew what side of the street to walk on even in my prairie town.
The irony is that Saint Patrick has not really been recognized by the church as a saint for decades. Same ironies exist in Christmas celebrations.
People have forgotten, I suppose that the reason for such sloppy sentimentality and adolescent imagery is that most our Irish ancestors came here when they were adolescent. The vast majority were kids under the age of 24. They were without restraints from family and church and formed their own little gangs and communities for survival in the harshest circumstances possible. In Ireland on St. Patrick's Day people went to church and came home to a nice meal and a cup of tea. They certainly, until recently,didn't get dough faced on Green Guiness.
Yesterday I rebeled and ate a little dinner of game hen and stuffing. The only green at the table was the broccolli and green onions. It is the first time I haven't made my Broonie or Colchannon.
I love my Irish heritage. I love the story telling and the music. I own beautiful pieces of whitework embroidery and prayer books. But I can't ever forget that the people celebrating St. Patrick's Day need to remember that this holiday is really one of the marks of division for the Irish people. St. Patrick wasn't a leprechaun. He was a priest. He wasn't even Irish!
No comments:
Post a Comment