IRISH HERITAGE

THIS IS MY IRISH GRANDMOTHER FOR WHOM I AM NAMED

Growing up as Margretta Marie O'Conlan, the most celebrated day in my house was St. Patrick's Day. Irish music would begin playing early in March in anticipation of THE GREAT DAY; Mother would begin honing her rendition of "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling," on the piano with all of us singing along, and on the actual day, my sisters and I would go off to school with green ribbons in our hair, and a green carnation (brought home for each of us by Dad) pinned to our school uniform. On the eve of St. Patrick's Day, my father would go off to The Friendly Sons of St. Patrick's Day Dinner dressed in his Irish finery of black tails and black top hat. It was the day for the Irish indeed, and with the O'Conlans and Kinsellas, we claimed a close heritage to the "old sod," proud as an authentic Irish Shamrock. Now, every St. Patrick's Day, I get out the historical rendition of our Irish heritage called "The Cooke Book"  written by my Aunt Leona Garrity. Here I read, give recognition to, and honor  my brave and determined ancestors who came before me, and who are quite responsible for the character and richness of my life today. I never want to forget who came before me to help make me who I am today.
Our family's journey to America began with my great-great grandfather coming to America as a stow-away on a boat after fleeting the British who were about to arrest him for teaching Catholic doctrine along the Irish hedgerows in County Cork.  Eventually the rest of his family made their way to America and settled in upstate New York. For me, the story picks up with the life of my grandmother for whom I was named, and even though I never knew her, I feel as though I know her through the pages of "The Cooke Booke." Surprising to me is the fact that before taking a different path, my grandmother entered the Religious life with The Daughters of Charity expecting to give her whole life over to the service of God. People who knew her, said that Gretta (her name all her life) was sensitive, intelligent and deeply spiritual. But, as fate would have it, Gretta decided that this life was not for her and eventually married my grandfather, Thomas L. Conlan whom I also never knew, nor did I know that they honeymooned on Mackinac Island, a beautiful northern Michigan spot that has been treasured by our family for years. Most important to me,  is reading about the character of my fore bearers who were stanch people of faith, passionate, determined, brave and righteous and had that great sense of Irish humor.  Often times they did things to preserve their faith and way of life that caused them pain and hardship, but was not a reason not to do what they believed in. Coming before me, they have been models in my life and have shown me the way to live my life. Like so many Irish, many of them were witty and wise; story-tellers and writers; passionate people who often would weep with emotion, or sing Irish ballads with gusto. I feel so grateful to have inherited such a lot as these, and am honored to continue the precious traditions and values of the Irish people.

Ah, another St. Paddy's Day come and gone. I have so many wonderful memories of this day during my growing up years. We were the Conlan family who had a direct link to the Irish Isle. My father's great grandparents came from Ireland, and like so many immigrants from that country, made their way slowly into the melting pot of America. Being Margretta Marie O'Conlan, (the clan dropped the O' after arriving in America as no Irishman wanted to "stand out." )I had a lot of heritage to celebrate, along with my six brothers and sisters, my closest sister being named Maureen. The Irish had their "troubles" here in America like all immigrants, and worked hard in menial tasks to make a living and establish themselves. How often I fail to think about the sacrifices and courage it took to do what they did, representing the basis for the sacrifices each generation had to make to get me to where I am today. And my father's great grandfather had courage indeed. He was in serious danger for teaching catholic doctrine along the hedgerows in Ireland where children came to learn in a very perilous environment. The British would not allow it, and so night after night, Dad's great grandfather would sneak out from his cottage and meet with those wanting to hear the Catholic word of God. For sure, he was afraid, but he did it anyway. One day, word came to him that he had been found out, and in grave danger. He fled, and hid in a ship going to America promising to bring his family over when he could, which he eventually did. When I was a little girl, wearing the green carnation my dad bought for his daughters each St. Paddy's Day, and the green ribbons I wore in my hair, I had no idea how deep went the roots and emotions of those who touched the lives of those brave immigrants starting over in a new land. Today, I do more than listen to Irish music and eat corn beef and cabbage. Every St. Paddy's Day I now take out the book written about my Conlan Irish heritage, look at all the pictures and faces of those who went before me, and say Thank You.