‘Tis often said that on St. Patrick’s Day, there are two kinds of people: the Irish, and those that wish they were. I am firmly fixed in the first category, not just on March 17 but year ‘round.

When you come from a long line of Murphys, O’Mearas, Finnertys, O’Briens, Ryans and Houlahans, it’s inevitable that you see the world through green-colored glasses.

I was the first in this family to marry “out,” as in “not Irish.” While my parents really loved my husband, the English-Scottish name of Robson didn’t quite fit. But we all worked hard on him, and he soon loved most things Irish. Not so long ago, his cousin did their family tree and discovered their great-grandmother had come from Waterford. So, now all is grand.

When I was a child, St. Patrick’s Day was a great day – it usually falls about midway through the 40 days of Lent. We were allowed to really celebrate and ignore whatever promises we’d made to do during Lent for that day. Family get-togethers featured lots of good food and a few pints to help wash it down.

In 1970, I took the celebration a step further and gave birth to our only daughter, Beth. Of course she was adorable, and my parents were ecstatic to finally have a grandchild. She was born at 11:04 p.m. I hadn’t given much thought to the actual date, but as time wore on I began to wonder if she’d make it in time! That was my first inkling that this little bundle of joy would do things in her own way and on her own time throughout her life. A telephone call that starts with, “Hi Mom, running a little late” has become almost a trademark.  She’s never way off the mark, but she does make it an interesting guessing game.

At our house, we tend to observe St. Patrick’s Day all month long. Circumstances have had us living in different areas, usually not close to our families. We have been lucky that March 17 usually fell during spring break week for Ontario schools so my mother, brother, sister-in-law and their three children came to visit and celebrate another year. It was a custom that slowly faded as cousins grew up and just couldn’t make it. Last year, they revived the weeklong St. Patrick’s Day visit for her 40th birthday. And a grand time was had by all.

Beth usually celebrates with friends at her favorite place, Neville’s in Southern Pines. We drop in early in the evening for a short visit and to bring a large cake.  The first year we went, we were greeted with, “Hi Mom, Hi Bruce” from the whole crowd. I later told Beth that when I gave birth to her I didn’t realize I would be getting a whole bar.

I love being Irish.  I love having a child born on March 17. The Irish are a wonderful lot. They’ll give you the shirt off their backs, they’ll sing when they’re sad, and they’ll sing when they’re happy. They’ll give you the warmest, brightest smiles and hold you close when you need it. They are very literate folk with many fine authors and poets. The literacy rate in Ireland is more than 90 percent. Their toasts are legendary:

“May you always be blessed with walls for the wind, a roof for the rain, a warm cup of tea by the fire, laughter to cheer you, those you love near you, and all that your heart might desire,” is one of many of my favorites.

Robson may be reached by e-mailing outreachnc@connectnc.com.