My greatgrandfather, Patrick, was born in Killeevan, County Monaghan, Ireland, and sailed on the SS Furnessia to the United States. He arrived at Ellis Island, New York City, on October 24, 1898, and helped to build the railroads her in the Northeast.
What It Means To Be Irish
You think you are a great singer.
You may not know the words, but that doesn't stop you from singing.
You have no idea how to make a long story short.
You swear very well.
Much of your childhood meals were boiled. Instant potatoes were a mortal sin.
You're strangely poetic after a few beers.
You can't wait for the other guy to stop talking so you can start talking.
You're not nearly as funny as you think you are, but that doesn't stop you from trying.
There wasn't a huge difference between your last wake and your last keg party.
You are, or know someone, named Murph.
You are genetically incapable of keeping a secret.
Childhood remedies for the common cold often included some form of whiskey.
There's no leaving a family party without saying goodbye for at least 45 minutes.
At this very moment, you have at least two relatives who are not speaking to each other (not fighting, mind you, just not speaking to each other).