The Day I Horrified My Grandmother

My grandmother was a first generation American born to Irish immigrants who had arrived in the middle of the nineteenth century. This fact is important to the following story.

My grandmother depended on me to drive her to church. On that Sunday she did not notice at first what I was wearing except that my blouse was a cheery pale yellow.

“That blouse looks nice with your dark hair,” she said as she got into the car.

I do not remember any of our conversation on the short drive to the church that St. Patrick’s Day. After I parked the car, we walked toward the church entrance. We were almost there when my grandmother turned to ask, “Did you bring something green to wear today?”

“There’s green in my skirt,” I said pointing to the plaid skirt I was wearing. It was  a plaid with stripes of green in the shade of new leaves, a warm yellow and  soft muted orange.

My grandmother stopped at the foot of the entry stairs, her mouth open in shock. “You can’t wear that on St. Patrick’s Day.”

“Why not? It has green.” It was the only thing with green in my closet.

“It has orange,” she said the word as if it made her sick.

“What’s wrong with orange?’ As the other church goers passed us by.

Grandma shook her head and muttered, “If my parents were here to see you… Tsk. Well, it’s too late for you to go home to change. I suppose it will have to do. I just hope no one notices.”

She was still slowly shaking her head as we entered the church. It was only afterward that I learned that the Protestants of Ireland chose orange for their color while it was green only for the Catholics.

I thought it was rather nice that the two colors co-existed in my skirt. It would be nice if it were the same for the people of Ireland. But as a courtesy to my grandmother, I did not wear that skirt next year on St. Patrick’s Day.

#FamilyStories #St.Patrick’sDay #Traditions #CulturalInheritance