I know that by the time you read this, St. Patrick's Day will have already passed. But, as I write this, it is still “St. Paddy's Day,” a day when we all celebrate the “Emerald Isle” and everything Irish. As you probably guess from my name, “Patrick,” I am of Irish decent. The story, according to my grandfather, is that my great-great grandfather came to the United States on a cattle barge during the potato famine in Ireland. Many Irish immigrants came to this land during that tragic time in history, mostly due to starvation.
I think one thing I inherited from my Irish past is my love of storytelling. The Irish do love a good story, especially if it's humorous. I won't say that I'm as skilled as many other Irish storytellers I have heard, but I do try. So, in the spirit of St. Paddy's Day, I'd like to (hopefully) entertain you with a couple of my favorite Irish stories. Of course, they aren't the only stories I know, they're just the only ones I can print here.
An Irishman, an Englishman and a Scotsman were discussing tea. The Englishman says he always stirs his tea with his right hand. The Scotsman says he stirs his tea with his left hand. The Irishman chimes in with, “Me? I always use a spoon.”
“What is the quickest way to get to Cork?” a traveler asked an Irish farmer.
“Are you walking or driving,” replied the farmer.
“Driving,” said the traveler.
“Yes, that would be the quickest way,” said the farmer.
Of course, no compilation of Irish stories would be complete without mentioning a walk home from the pub. Here's one to fit that bill:
Paddy and Joseph were walking home from Mulligans Irish bar on Halloween night. They decided to take a shortcut through the cemetery just for laughs. Right in the middle of the cemetery, they were startled by a tap-tap-tapping noise coming from the misty shadows. Trembling with fear, they found an old man with a hammer and chisel, chipping away at one of the headstones.
“Man, ya frightened the life outa us,” Paddy said, catching his breath. “You scared us half to death, we thought you were a ghost!”
“What are you doing working here so late at night?” Joseph asked.
“My friends are such fools!” the old man grumbled. “They misspelt my name and here I have to correct it!”
I'll leave you with an old Irish blessing I once heard:
May the sun always shine on your face,
May the wind always blow gently to your back,
May the road always rise up to greet you,
And when you come to die, may you be in Heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead.
I hope you have a wonderful weekend, here on the Sunny Side.
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