In the evening, in the best tradition of Irish drinkers who cry into their Guinness then smile and burst into a rebel song, I remember my dad with a cold beer and a plate of corned beef and potatoes in the company of friends. If I can find it, I wear my dad’s favorite pin:
Roses are red
Violets are bluish
A leprechaun told me
St. Patrick was Jewish
Happy St. Patrick’s Day, Dad.
Photo of her father courtesy of the author
