St. Patrick's Day was a big deal where I come from: parties, green hats, parades. Not so much where I live now. Fortunately, I have my Dad here with us, and we've always played up his Irishness tremendously. It's an annual affair to trace our Irish heritage with him while we eat our corned beef and cabbage. (And this year, I made it instead of my mom!) Andrew O'Riley and his brother came over in the 1860s from Ireland to escape the famine. Andrew dropped the "O" and begat James Welsh Riley, who married Aretha and had 10 children, of which my grandmother Gladys was the second to last. It's not too far of a stretch from Ireland to my Dad—just 3 generations. And a continent. And, hard to imagine, 150 years.
It's a long way from Clare to here.
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