Irish

I'm Irish.
Well, obviously first and foremost I'm Canadian, but part of me is Irish.
My grandmother was Irish. She never actually visited Ireland, and if we're being totally honest, I don't even know what percentage of her blood was Irish, but with shocking red hair, and a firey temper, the woman could claim that heritage one hundred percent.
My grandmother, Nana, died several years ago. She wasn't exactly a warm and cuddly person. I have good memories of her, funny memories of her. And honestly, she wasn't always the nicest woman. She said whatever was on her mind, and that could include stuff like telling me I was too fat (when I was 7) and that I wasn't Irish enough because I had dark hair (compared to my sister with red hair). There was even a period where I refused to go visit her because she was a little too harsh about my hair, clothing and body shape. (I was 13) I suppose I could dwell on that. But, on St.Patrick's Day I don't think about that.  Not really.
I remember the one holiday that made her really happy - St. Patrick's Day.
The woman loved her Shamrocks. There was nothing like going to her house in March and seeing all of the leprachauns, pots of gold and shamrock's decorating the small apartment she shared with my grandad. She always wore a Shamrock ring, and believed in the Luck of the Irish.
Kooky yes.
And maybe I have that side of her personality.
The side that's not afraid to celebrate and be a little crazy. The funny thing is, time heals a lot of stuff. And it makes you look back at stuff in a whole new light. And on St.Patrick's Day I love to look back and appreciate my grandmother, and all the crazy kooky stuff she passed down.
So, tonight I'll raise a glass. To being Irish. To being her grandaughter. And to remembering the good memories we all pass down.
Happy St Pat's everyone.