Wednesday, March 17, 2010

St. Patty's day is a weird holiday for me. I'm a full quarter Irish, yet rather then be descended from the awesome drunken Irish Catholics, I'm descended from those dirty, sovereign hating Irish who were loyal to King William III: the Orangemen. So on St. Patrick's day when the whole world is wearing green, I have to wear Orange, to show that my ancestors were a bunch of self-righteous, bigoted, suppressionists, intent on keeping the good Catholic man down. That's what's in my blood.

The point is, that I would be a freaking awesome drunk proud Irishman. My first name is about as Irish as you can get. Rory means "Red King." It's Gaelic spelling is Ruaidhri, after the last high king of Ireland in the 12th century; my actual name has more silent letters then ones you pronounce. I love green. I don't have red hair, but I used to, here's a picture of me with red hair and a broken nose. Red hair, drunkenness, violent Irish disposition, insatiable desire for independence. I could write about my exploits on www.ruaidhriness.com:

"I'm the Gaelic warrior Ruaidhri, I have ridden wolves into battle against Highlanders twice my size. Breaker of bread with the Sidhe, battler of the mighty Kelpie on both loch and shore; I courted and won the heart of the magnificent Aoife of York. If I can do these things I can achieve all that is possible."

But I haven't done those things. The Highlander bullied me, the Sidhe aren't my friends, I got fled in fear from the Kelpie, and Aoife rejected me because I wouldn't assert myself. All cause I'm an Irish Protestant with dark brown hair, I go crying to the King when I don't get my way.

There's some introspective element here: self-actualization vs. self-acceptance. Am I a product/slave to my upbringing, to my heritage, or am I confident enough in myself to display the level of character I choose to. Am I what I am, or am I what I want to be. Unfortunately for me, as someone who hates to be confused, the answer is somewhere in the gray area.

Ironically the quarter of me that's Lebanese is Catholic, but since there is no St. Maroun's Day, this point is moot. I'm also a quarter German, who cares what religion that is, but it'll take care of the drunkeness come October.

As for the actual Saint Patrick, his faith grew in captivity. Then he broke free and became the patron saint of Ireland. He was born on British ruled land as well. So, today we remember that we can become who we want to be, and often only because of where we came from, not where we are going. So, though at times the two sides are car-bombing the hell out of each other, on this St. Patrick's day I have faith of oneday there being a united Ruaidhri, and plenty of fucking clover.