I have no Irish heritage.
Zero. Zip. Zilch.
But I absolutely love St.
Patrick’s Day.
In 2002, my daughter and I visited Ireland. She was 16. I was, well, a bit older. The trip was arranged by her high school
French teacher. When Lisa approached her
father and me about going on the trip in the early fall of 2001, I told her
that I thought it would be a marvelous opportunity. Did they need any adult chaperons?
Shortly after the trip was announced, the unthinkable
tragedy that we now refer to as 9/11 occurred.
People were afraid to fly – for good reason. But reason prevailed and the trip would go on
– albeit a little more sparsely attended than planned. My seat was secured; my presence was
welcomed.
After flying all night, we landed in Shannon on June 6, 2002. From there we boarded the bus that would take
us throughout Ireland. We fought sleep
as we toured a beach, viewed the amazing Irish countryside, visited a castle, and
took photos of the fabulous Cliffs of Moher.
We stopped for lunch at a small restaurant and gift shop. As we ate and shopped, we noticed that a
single song played over and over.
My
heart is in Ireland; ‘tis there I long to be
Her hills and her valleys are calling to me
Though born here in this land, my heart is in Ireland
The land of the old folk is calling to me.
Her hills and her valleys are calling to me
Though born here in this land, my heart is in Ireland
The land of the old folk is calling to me.
Annoying as it was at the time, we found we couldn’t get the
song out of our heads. We grew to love
it, and my daughter and another teenager from the trip sang it frequently – usually
with an audience. It became the theme
song of the trip; even as we went on to visit Wales, England, Scotland, and
finally, France.
I chatted with my daughter’s French teacher on one of the
long bus rides that bound our adventures.
He commented that I would always cherish this trip, as this would likely
be the most time I would ever get to spend one-on-one with my daughter. His wise words have proven true.
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