I’m not one to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day. I mean, come on, I’m a pale red head, green colored clothing would make me look like the freakin’ flag of Ireland. I am, however, wearing my favorite t-shirt:

“Psycho Irish Bitch from Hell”

It was gifted to me from a person who tried to present it as a joke, but I’m sure was quite serious about the message.

And yet, I still wear it. Mostly, because I find it amusing. Amusing that in this day and age someone would use a traditional European ethnic slur. In a country where jokes about persons of Middle Eastern or Arabic descent seem to rule the day, I enjoy the fact that I can be targeted for being the typical Mick.

Shanty Irish if you will.

Think of all the slurs that used to float about like so much confetti: Pommies, Frogs, Polocks, Krauts, Wops, Deigos, Hebes, Chinks, Japs, Reds, Spics…I’m sure there’s more, I just can’t think of them now.

Americans forget that when our ancestors came to this country, we clustered together in the ethnic bound neighborhoods of our motherlands. Sure, everyone loves the Irish now, but at the the turn of the 20th century, being a Papist Potato Eater was only slightly more palatable than being a leper.

And when Kennedy, an Irish Catholic, was elected President, a mere fifty years ago, many were fairly convinced the world was going to end.

What a difference a century makes.

So I’m off to school. The first of my family to have actually graduated college. I may go out for a drink later, or I may stay home and skip this American invention altogether.

I have a crap load of homework to do after all.

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