Paddy’s Day abroad used to make me cringe – now I embrace it

The St Patrick’s Day parade in Montreal used to annoy me. In my 40 years in this city I went only twice; both times under protest. I felt that the parade said little about the Irish and the Ireland I knew so well.

In Belfast, during the worst of its troubled years having an Irish identity wasn’t easy, or even safe. Nothing in the parade connected with this part of my identity.

Now though, I’ve changed. I’m older. Since I value kindness more, I try to be kinder. I am a lot more relaxed about the parade.

Leprechauns, shamrock, green-painted faces, those big floppy green hats – it’s all good fun. You want to be Irish for a few hours? Sure, why not, I say.

Sprig of shamrock

When I was a kid it was a quiet day. The pubs were closed. After breakfast, Mum pinned a little sprig of shamrock to the right lapel of each of our jackets. Then she walked the seven of us to Mass. Dad wouldn’t be with us because he had to work.

At some point during the Mass, we would sing, “Faith of our Fathers, burning bright/in spite of dungeon, fire and sword . . .” – a reminder of who we were, where we had come from and what we had suffered as a people.

As for a parade, that came along on July 12th when, all over Northern Ireland, Orangemen marched to celebrate the victory of Protestant King William of Orange over Catholic King James at the River Boyne in 1690.

Despite the significance of the battle, Dad would walk with his kids to the top of our street to see the Orangemen march by. Dad enjoyed the parades and so did I. They were full of colour, and the sounds of big drums, bagpipes and flutes.

Mum didn’t come with us. Her view was that we would be better off without them. She didn’t like dad taking us to see the parade.

Man of tolerance

Dad, though, was a man of tolerance, of the old-fashioned, live and let live, kind. In his own way he wanted to protect us from what we call now radicalisation and its consequences – both of which you can hear sung in The Patriot Game, a Republican favourite.

When violence broke out in 1969 Dad’s model of tolerance may have saved his sons from becoming involved. Who knows? Without his kinder and gentler world view I mightn’t even be here to write this piece.

Today his dream might be that the orange and the green walk together, on March 17th and on July 12th. However, since he’s not here any more I’ll have to dream that dream for him. When it comes true – and why shouldn’t it? – I’ll be happy to join in both parades.