Let me start by saying that I have no animosity towards the Irish. Even though my first wife was Irish, I hold no grudge against all of those from the Emerald Isle. I even think that Lucky Charms are magically delicious. However, I am not Irish even on St. Patrick’s Day. When I was a kid, every year, the good sisters of Saint Joseph told all these little Italian-American boys and girls that everyone was Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.

We would all wear green under threat of being pinched for not doing so, cut out little shamrocks, and sing When Irish Eyes are Smiling. All great fun, but I am still not Irish. Two days later, after all my Medighan friends had recovered from drinking green beer while eating corned beef and cabbage, was La Festa di San Giuseppe, the Feast of St. Joseph. All the Italian kids would happily wear red without any encouragement from the nuns.