What Does It Mean To Be Irish?

What does it mean to be Irish? Here is a site that provokes some thought. We might, after reading it, ask the question; what does it mean to be American? How does this line of thinking apply to so many of the cross cultural people here in America, both with a single external affinity and multiple external affinities? Weigh in and be heard!

The President on the Diaspora

Warm Welcome, Happy Stay

We made it back. My brother and I were welcomed with the kind of hospitality that legends are made from, and we were happy to find similarities between the East Atlantic and West Atlantic sides of the family. Everywhere we went we were offered food, lodging, drink, and great conversation. There is no way to thank each individual personally, but everyone is deserving of our deepest gratitude. We were told to return to the States and to let people know that there are places to stay in Ireland and new generations to introduce.

My wife is now convinced that Ireland is diverse enough to be welcoming to Africans, and I have begun saving my time and my pennies for a family visit. My brother has started to plan how to get his daughters there to meet their counterparts. My mother, though elderly and caring for an infirmed husband, has renewed her intention to return to see the good people and to see where some of her lost son has gone to rest in the family's hometown. I think it is safe to say that we did everything we went to do, and more. There are some great pictures.

One last thing to say about this trip; I had to continue from Ireland to Korea for work, and went through Germany on the way. (In Germany everyone kept speaking German to me, and I couldn't figure out why. Then I realized that I was wearing the sweatshirt from my wife's company, which is a German name.) My job in Korea was busy, but went well. On the return leg from Frankfurt to Dublin I was seated next to a young lady who was on her way back to Dublin from Australia after her visa ran out. She was stuck between drunk and hung over, and was loathing Ireland with all her might. When she found out I was American she told me quite frankly that she hated Americans because we were all crowding Ireland looking for our roots and saying we were Irish when we were the furthest thing from it. She was happy to accuse me of this as well, and I thought of this blog right away. I think the fact that I did not feel compelled to respond or to defend my journey speaks volumes about the success of this trip. I know now viscerally and emotionally what I always knew intellectually; that the connections of bloodlines and shared experience are methods of self identification as appropriate as accent or proximity. I wonder if my contributions to this blog can remain on tone now...