COLUMN BY MATT PRANGER

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Irish green runs deep

March. The dreariest, muckiest month of the year.

Growing up in Eastern Iowa, March was even more dreary than the third month of year here in the Northwest. Dull brown ground might only be broken up by some soot-coated slush. Only a few crocus occasionally were brave enough to bloom.

Luck was on my side though. My Mother's ancestors were Irish. Before becoming Ma Pranger, my Mother was Teresa McDonnell, daughter of Mary (O'Toole) McDonnell. Gannons, Shannons, Reagans, Trimbles, Burkes and others with Irish surnames were relatives. Family friends included Judges, Murphys, McConnells. With all this Celtic ancestry and friendships, one day in March shone like an emerald.

My early memories of St. Patrick's Day include munching shamrock-shaped sugar cookies with green frosting or gobbling green-colored cupcakes. I even recall spooning down some cornflakes drowned in milk dyed green by my younger brother. (It grossed-out our sisters.)

Ma made sure all the kids were dressed in their best green on March 17. Pa Pranger, 100 percent German, provoked the Irish men and women by wearing his brightest red. Uncles countered this with tales of lepruchans and a friend's dad sang-along to the Chieftans and Irish Rovers.

At St. Mary's High School (home of the Fighting Irish), we switched from blue and gold to green near March 17. We donned green felt derbies, shiny green garters, "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" buttons. Newspapers highlighted the "Luck of the Irish" when St. Mary's won the state boys basketball championship in 1975.

Following my interest in Presidential politics, and encouraged by an uncle on the city council, I spent St. Patrick's Day 1980 stumping for Ted Kennedy with some of his nephews in the northern Chicago suburbs. Irish Luck wasn't on my side when a German shepherd nipped me but I stuffed my stomach with some of the most delectable corn beef and potatoes west of Dublin. (No cooked cabbage for me. I've never been able to overcome the boiled shoe leather smell.)

In college, at St. Ambrose in Davenport, St. Patrick's Day meant slurping green beer at Kelly's Circle Tap, the tavern with the two-lane-wide shamrock on the street in front of it. Each St. Patrick's Day Eve some students or alumni would slip past the campus cops and paint St. Ambrose's statue -- prominently located on the main lawn fronting a busy avenue -- with green water-based paint.

A couple years later some University of Iowa friends and I -- not flush enough to make a trip to Florida's beaches -- made the pilgrimage to Chicago for St. Pat's Day. The Windy City lived up to its tradition and watching the parade seemed as chilly as a dip in the green Chicago River. We stayed at the Conrad Hilton, where a friend's friend worked. This friend's friend also happened to be the daughter of a Democratic Party leader, who might have been the Parade Chairman. We were invited to the Imperial Suite and even took it over after the older revellers went home. Partying on Rush Street was great but the highlight of the trip was sharing an elevator with American Irish Royalty -- the Parade Princess.

Well, after meeting royalty, St. Patrick's Day just hasn't been the same. OK, maybe my pint tipping's slackening over the years might have more to do with it. Or maybe I haven't been around enough folk of Irish ancestry on St. Patrick's Days of late. Though, of course, everybody's Irish on March 17.

This year I plan to celebrate my Gaelic heritage again. No, the day after St. Patrick's Day I don't plan to turn more green than the beer I drank the night before. I'll just want to show a little more Irish spirit. In preparation, I'll be tapping my toes to some Irish tunes and learning more Irish blessings.

Everyone knows this traditional toast:

May the road rise up to meet you,
may the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and the rain fall soft upon your fields,
and until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

There are plenty of other fine Irish blessings, though. Here are some of my favorites:

Like the warmth of the sun
And the light of the day,
May the luck of the Irish
shine bright on your way.

May your pockets be heavy
Your heart be light
And may good luck pursue you
Each morning and night

May good luck be your friend
In whatever you do
And may trouble be always
A stranger to you.

May your blessings outnumber
The Shamrocks that grow
And may trouble avoid you
Wherever you go.

And the most I can hope for you is:

May you be half an hour in Heaven
Before the Devil knows you're dead.

Erin go braugh!!!

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