St. Patrick’s Day is a day that I become irrationally self-defensive. 

This blog post is evidence of that. 

"Here's a stick to beat the lovely lady"

I am not Irish. 

Despite the freckles, the translucent skin, the reddish hair, I am probably more Sioux Indian than I am Irish. (And believe it or not, a fraction of me exists that is Sioux Indian).

There’s nothing wrong with being Irish, of course. 

I’m sure it’s awesome.

That isn’t the issue here. 

It’s that people assume. 

Ba-da-bing, I know what you are. 

But

I’m mostly Sicilian.

And I think I have the nose to prove it.

And the flailing gestures to accompany my speech. 

And maybe some questionable familial ties, that everyone claims to know nothing about. 

I saw “The Godfather.” I saw the name on the olive oil company truck. No relation? 

Right-o.

 I don’t want to be pinched. Why is that ok?

 And I can’t wear green because that just encourages people.

“But isn’t today, like, your day?”

I’m sorry to say that it isn’t. 

But, by way of celebration, I will watch “The Quiet Man”, which is lovable despite (but also because of) the stereotypes and the taming-of-the-shrew mentality.