Mom had her birthday Tuesday. She would have been 80 this year, but she passed away on a Sunday last July so this year I celebrated the grand day without her. St. Patrick’s Day was special for her, and because of that, it was special to her kids. Mom (Pat to her friends) was all Irish. So to honor her memory and acknowledge my own Irish heritage I wore green (as did all those blessed with Irish blood and those wishing they had been).
She grew up on a small farm near Kilkenny (Minnesota – not Ireland). After she was married she and Dad moved to Belle Plaine where many Irish families had settled. I know Kucera is not an Irish name, but my mother’s family accepted Dad as if he were a member of their clan. That’s the way the Irish are. You don’t have to be Irish; but you must have a thirst for it. Mom came from a large family, and because of that I have many cousins. The O’Meara side of my family still gets together for family reunions conducted in the Irish tradition.
There are really only two places to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in Minnesota. One is St. Paul and the other is Belle Plaine. Oh sure, there are others – but none of any real notability. So I went back home Tuesday to reconnect with my past. Growing up in a small town with a strong Irish influence and having a Mother of pure Irish descent affects a person in ways that six-hundred words can’t fully explain. You can’t escape who you are. The way I approach life was sharply influenced by those days in Belle Plaine.
It’s been said that the Irish don’t take themselves too seriously. Now I ask you is there a better way to go through life? There was a lot of fun to be had with Mom. She didn’t waste precious time by making her house spic and span. She was content with just spic.
She didn’t win any awards for cooking either. As a former first grade teacher Mom made sure all five of her kids could read at an early age. We had a box of crayons (we called them colors) that she would often take out to draw and color with us. She also played games with us and with often her in the lead we learned to create our own worlds of make-believe. We also played a lot of records in that house on Church Street.
On St. Patrick’s Day Mom would listen to Carmel Quinn and Dennis Day. I now prefer Van Morrison and U2, but that’s just me. .Mom didn’t celebrate her St. Patrick’s Day birthday by raising a pint of Guinness. The very thought of it - Honestly. Her way was more in step with the wearin’ of the green, a Shamrock to remind the world that she’s Irish, and maybe a wee bit of Bailey’s in her coffee.
Many years ago I had a boss who gave me some wonderful advice. “Make your home a place where your children will want to bring their friends. That way you will know where your children are and who their friends are.” Looking back on my childhood Mom already knew that. My friends were always welcome at our house. They were comfortable in talking with Mom, and many of them came to say good-bye at her funeral.
So even though she’s not here anymore I still feel compelled to extend my greeting to her one more time. “Happy Birthday Mom and Happy St. Patrick’s Day.”
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