KAREN WIGHT -- No Place Like Home

St. Patrick’s Day is just around the corner, and in my family this has

always been a big occasion. With names on the family tree like Hogan,

Kennedy, McDowell and Anderson, I have had more than my fair share of

corned beef, cabbage, boiled potatoes and soda bread.

When I was growing up, St. Patrick’s Day was my father’s special

holiday. With a name like Larimore Hall Kennedy, what can you expect?

He was the holiday chef of the house. Even though he prepared the same

traditional meal every year, we talked about it for weeks ahead of time

as if it we’d never tasted corned beef before.

When I became old enough to join him in the kitchen, there were plenty

of attempts to add something new to the menu. My efforts were never taken

very seriously, and the bulk of the dinner remained the same. Tradition

reigned.

If March 17 fell on a weekday, my dad would always send florist’s

shamrocks to my school classroom. I was always the envy of the group when

the office would deliver the leafy green present. I never found a

shamrock with a lucky complement of four leaves -- the name shamrock

comes from an Irish word thatmeans trefoil or three-leafed -- but we

always had fun trying.

Dad continued this tradition throughout my UCLA years, and my

roommates and I always looked forward to a St. Patrick’s Day “surprise.”

We pinned a shamrock to our shirts, hence the “Wearin’ o’ the Green,” and

even though there were not a lot of snakes in Westwood -- at least of the

reptilian kind -- it was fun to share the family tradition.

The shamrocks stopped coming after Dad moved overseas (perhaps he

thought my husband would take over the duties), but I have kept St.

Patrick’s Day alive in my own family by continuing the Gaelic chef

duties.

Throughout the years, our Irish connection has been more than just a

nod to our ancestry. In America’s big melting pot, we have found that our

Irish roots have served us well.

Our first au pair, which we temporarily imported when our daughter

Annie was born almost 16 years ago, was from Ireland.

It was quite a controversy with her family to send Claire, a nice

Catholic girl, to an “orange” house. We are Presbyterian. Her family had

to get quite a few references for us before they would allow their

youngest daughter to travel to such a potentially dangerous family.

On the other hand, our favorite baby-sitter as the kids grew up, and

still one of our favorite people, was Anne Kelly, a nice girl from a big,

Irish family.

For years, in a futile attempt to borrow from my youth and replicate

the shamrock experience for my own family, I tried to grow them in the

garden. Maybe it was just poor placement, or maybe the greenhouse variety

plants are just not meant for outdoor living, but I could never get the

thoroughbred shamrocks to take hold.

I have, however, had more than my fair share of their nasty cousins,

with oxalis growing in the grass and clover sprouting where I don’t

intend it to be.

So maybe the Irish family traditions have become a bit diluted as I

raise my brood. The kids are not crazy about the traditional meal, and I

do not send shamrocks to them at school.

The Irish branches on the family tree are getting a little higher, but

it’s still fun to make a big deal out of St. Patrick’s Day. We add the

Waterford and some Belleek pieces from the china cupboard and set a

special table. We tell a few good stories from the family treasure trove.

It’s my attempt to celebrate our heritage and a love for shamrocks.

Erin go bragh.

* KAREN WIGHT is a Newport Beach resident. Her column runs Sundays.