Irish He Is

You gotta love the Irish.  Even if my husband wasn't 100 percent Irish and my mother's maiden name wasn't Kelly, even if our family wasn't comprised of the most rabid Notre Dame fans on the planet, even if the only things I knew about the Irish were gleaned from watching "The Quiet Man," one of the greatest movies of all time (and the best role of John Wayne's storied career, in my book), I would love the Irish.  And what's not to love?

Son #5 on Christmas day, proudly sporting one of his Irish-themed gifts.

A couple of days ago, one of my #4 son's buddies from his college days at Notre Dame posted a poem about the Irish on Facebook that came across my news feed, and it says all that you need to know about them.  I decided I should pass it on here for your reading pleasure.  If you're Irish, you'll raise your glass and say, "True 'tis!" (which I believe is how they say "True dat" on the Emerald Isle, isn't it?).  If you're not...well, you'll wish you had even a wee bit 'o Irish blood in ye.

IRISH HE IS

A strange blend of shyness, of pride and conceit,

And stubborn refusal to bow in defeat.*

He's spoiling and ready to argue and fight,

Yet the smile of a child fills his soul with delight.

His eyes are the quickest to well up in tears,

Yet his strength is the strongest to banish your fears.

His hate is as fierce as his devotion is grand,

And there is no middle ground on which he will stand.

He's wild and he's gentle, he's good and he's bad.

He's proud and he's humble, he's happy and sad.

He's in love with the ocean, the earth and the skies,

He's enamored with beauty wherever it lies.

He's victor and victim, a star and a clod,

But mostly he's Irish...in love with his God.

*(This stubborn refusal to bow in defeat is what we Fighting Irish fans are counting on when they play Alabama for the national championship title on January 7!)