First I’ll get my negativity out of the way. Then I’ll sing the praises of St. Patrick himself.

My negativity is rooted in my adolescence, a time during which I was (surprise) particularly full of myself and determined to be superior to the masses. I attended a Catholic high school whose mascot or totem or whatever was the “Fighting Irish,” and the big, big fundraiser every year was the St. Patrick’s Day Card Party, a drinking, (I think) smoking and gambling for which we were all required to sell many tickets and work, etc. This, of course, invariable took place during Lent, and since, besides being full of myself, I was also rather sanctimonious (my old classmates who lurk here are probably enjoying this mightily!), so the fact of this spectacle being held during Lent really offended my sensibilities on that score.

There was a bit of ethnic tension in there, as well. I’m half English/Scotch/Irish mix and half French-Canadian. The French Canadian was, of course, much more singular in my thinking, especially since I had contact with actual French-speaking relations and so on. So that gave me another reason to deeply resent everyone running around telling me I was supposed to be Irish for a day or a week or whatever. Mix that with the French-Canadian Jansenism, and you’ve got the recipe for a snide little girl hating St. Patrick’s Day and its associated non-ascetic revels down in Knoxville, Tennessee.

And I may be mostly over that, but I still get irked by the lifting of abstinence, all for the sake of corned beef.