My Irish Iris!

By

Gerry Niskern

A friend of mine asked if I had a good St. Patrick Day’s story for my blog this week. And I had to admit that in all my years of writing columns I had never written a St. Patrick’s Day piece.

It’s easily explained. When I was growing up in West Virginia, out in the country among a lot of farm kids, there was never much said about the Irish Holiday. The farm kids wore whatever was handed down from sister to sister and brother to brother. Nobody had the time or the money to worry about wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day.

But when we moved to Phoenix in l942, I learned about St. Paddy’s Day. I was in fifth grade that year, when girls started paying attention to what others were wearing, especially on St. Patrick’s Day. I came home from school smarting from a few pinches, but also upset about not wearing green that day and not being “Irish”.

My dad laughed when he heard me complain, “I wish I was Irish too.” Hey, he said,  “Don’t you know you are half Irish too.  Craig is an Irish name. As a matter of fact, the president of Ireland right now is named Craig.”

My mother’s family was from Austria, and we had spent much more time with them at family gatherings. My cousins that I played with on those days were from various parents of Italian, Russian,  Polish, American and Austrians, all married into the family. So how was this confused ten year old  supposed  to know she was half Irish?

I have a granddaughter who’s mother is from a strong Irish family and she has no doubt about who she is. But I like to remind her, only half! Remember the our Austrian side too!

Now, I can proudly say, I have a great-great-granddaughter. I’m her only great-great and she’s my first. Her name is Iris, and although she can’t be an “Irish Rose” as the old song goes, she is my “Irish Iris”, on this St. Patrick’s day.

But only half!