The Wearin' O' The Green

St. Patrick’s Day used to be a big and pretty complicated deal. There were rules about what colors to wear--everyone=green, some people (either British or Irish or American of some descent other than British or Irish, it was never really clear, even to the popular kids who declared the rules)=orange. There were rules about who could be pinched and why, along with more rules about the consequences for pinching someone with hidden green (like the label-on-the-underwear trick). One year caused great concern in my world because I had to wear my yellow Rancho Simi Drill Team shirt on the day of Erin Go Bragh and didn’t have any green unmentionables to wear underneath. Knowing that I would be an easy target for people who only had one day a year to get in touch with their inner bully, I panicked and gave myself green freckles with what was apparently the most indelible permanent marker ever manufactured. I remember this because I was still trying to get rid of the bright green dots across my face days later when any quirky charm they may have had had long since worn off. Another tally mark in the hopeless dork column. As a Chico resident, I can’t remember the last time St. Patrick’s Day meant anything other than studiously avoiding the vomit and nonsense of downtown, but it did seem appropriate to observe the “holiday” by reading Dr. Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham. And maybe get a Shamrock Shake at an outlying McDonald’s.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Bampa!


http://www.amazon.com/Green-Eggs-Myself-Beginner-Books/dp/0394800168


http://www.seussville.com/seussentennial/resources1.html