My Boston Irish

Still thinking about Boston. That always leads me to thinking about the Irish. (all my Boston relations are/were pure Irish) That leads me to my answer Jane's question on our walk this morning. "Have you ever been to Ireland?" "No, I have not." And then to wondering why not?

I always had dumb reasons like the rainy weather and I don't drink beer or whiskey. But my mother and all my relatives loved the county. And I assume that two of my favorite personal traits came from my Irish heritage; The Blarney and the 'Sight'. Not that I have overmuch of each, but I have my fair share which is sometimes great and sometimes a pain in the ass.

I have snippets of family stories that come to mind from time to time along with certain expressions that are engraved somewhere in my consciousness. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Heard that a lot. "Go on with you!" With any good Irish family, it is hard to tell the legends from the history, but who cares? When my mother was three, she died of scarlet fever. At least the doctor proclaimed her dead. The priest gave her the last rites. Then her nurse took her on the train from Lawrence, MA to the ocean, throwing her bottle out the window on the way. After she was plunged in the salt water she revived and began to heal. "Salt water cures everything." I heard that story more than once. When given the chance we put all our cuts into the sea.

My great grandfather had ships that brought refugees from the famine to Boston. He was highly revered because his boats were not death traps like so many and he gave a lot of starving people a break. his reputation was still alive when I was a kid. My grandfather had money during the depression and he helped out a lot of his countrymen. I can still remember going out with them (to church, I suppose) and feeling the respect they got. But much of life in the community was banter, jokes and most of all, stories.

The stories were tall tales, but they were self-deprecating at the same time. Any Irishman worth his salt  would have you laughing and crying almost at the same time. And then there were the songs of the Uprising. They still bring tears to my eyes and I, myself, never lost a son to the Cause.

OK. I am going to Ireland. I need to feel the spirit. I want to meet my history. All this inspired by watching my tribe, may of them cops, during the sad news coverage in Boston.