Irish Eyes

A little over three years ago now I packed up my car and headed East with just my 10-year Husky mix Cheyenne.  The intent was for the two of us to be on our own for a few weeks, get the house set up while the husband stayed behind in Texas and got the old house ready to sell without a lifetime worth of collective stuff in the way.  My daughter would be the last to leave, by the original plan, after she finished the spring semester.  In the end, Cheyenne and I were up here on our own for over four months, with some visits from friends and family here and there to break the routine.  I think at the time that was the longest I'd ever lived by myself.  I had short periods of time between roommates when I was young, but even then my future husband was usually around.  Now in Pittsburgh, I knew no one really and was truly on my own.  My mother's family lives in the area, but most of them are about 50 miles south of me in Washington, PA.  They invited me to everything they could and treated like one of their own, but it's an hour each way, so the time I could go down there was limited.  And my Lovely Philly Friend made the trek across the state several times to show me the city she had grown up in, helping me discover such wonders as Trader Joe's (granted, it's not local, but it was new to me), Lawrenceville, and Vento's Pizza, which was where we met Pittsburgh legend Al Vento, co-founder of Franco's Italian Army (who is one of the nicest men I think I've ever bumped into casually on a Sunday afternoon in my life).  But, for a lot of the time, it was Cheyenne and me being strangers in a strange land.  I am uniquely suited to being alone, however, despite not having a lot of practice at it.  Raised an only child by older parents in a sparsely populated state, I learned early on how to amuse myself, and I was busy unpacking, getting lost, and watching hockey.  There wasn't a whole lot of time to worry about who was or wasn't around.  Really I was only truly, achingly lonely one time, and that was over St. Patrick's Day weekend because there was the sense of community and celebration happening all around me, that sense of camaraderie and family that I was excluded from.  But one of the best things about Pittsburgh is that, if you put your own foot out the door, the city will rise up and greet you.  I didn't really know that then, but I've been fortunate to learn it since.

Maybe it's strange that on a day which, for most of the country, is no more than an excuse to let your hair down a bit and drink green colored beer, I would be made to feel the most alone, but it's because you have to understand how big a thing St. Patrick's Day is here.  For one thing, there is a large Irish-American population in Pittsburgh.  My neighborhood is predominantly Irish Catholic, centered as it is around a large Catholic church and school.  And, you may remember me telling you how rooted people are here?  The unintended consequence of that is the city is strangely non-integrated.  It's not that I've found a lot of rampant prejudice (more than any where else, that is), but it's just a way of life that people are born, live and die in the same little areas  Therefore, the Irish population of a given neighborhood not only all know one another, they all tend to hang onto that sense of ethnicity and pride because it's never diluted by a transient population.  I began to get a sense of it even before the "holiday" when I would walk Cheyenne around the neighborhood and notice the Irish-themed bumper stickers on people's cars, or notice the Irish colors flying, including one house where they've got a huge Irish flag dwarfing their American flag (they display them in the proper hierarchy, it's just that the Irish one is noticeably larger).  And then there's the parade.  I didn't know anything about it until I was watching the news the night before and they spent a notably large part of the broadcast giving people reports not only just about the parade itself, but how the weather was supposed to be, how to park, when spectators should get there and so on.  They touted it as the second largest in the country.  I had a hair appointment the next morning and asked my hair newly found hair dresser about it.  I could tell it was when the few years when she wasn't going herself, but she explained that by the time I was done with the appointment, there'd be no shot at getting down there, as there would literally be thousands of people there.   So I realized, sitting at home alone on what was a beautiful early spring day, that I had really blown a great chance to see a big part of what makes Pittsburgh tick.  I vowed not to miss it again.  And maybe that would have been the end of it, but for the fact that the neighborhood was alive with celebrations that made it clear this was no small holiday.  As I took Cheyenne for a walk that afternoon, house after house had multiple cars parked around it.  I could hear the sounds of revelers coming from backyards and suddenly our little house with just the two of us seemed awful small and lonely.  I remember sitting in my basement that night watching The Boondock Saints painfully aware of how isolated I truly was.

Only in Pittsburgh do you tailgate for a parade!

Now, with a couple of parades under my belt, what I can tell you is this:  Pittsburghers may tend to keep to their own comfort zones, but they will welcome you in like you're one of their own if you meet them half way.  The downside to growing up an only child of older parents is that you miss that big sense of family and of belonging that others take for granted.  I've looked for it and envied it in a variety of venues, both consciously and sub-consciously, all my life:  when I go to pow-wows, when I would go with friends to their church, at ballparks and hockey arenas, and at festivals and concerts.  Where you find it the most is when you're with a group of people who are all passionate about the same thing.  I occasionally bemoan the convenience of buying concert tickets online because some of the best conversations I've ever had was standing inline for hours waiting for Rush or U2 tickets to go on sale with other fans.  We shared a common bond that gave us a built in topic of conversation.  Well Pittsburgh is much the same way.  Whether you're talking Steelers, Penguins, Pirates, or the state of potholes along Fifth Avenue, there's lots of people willing to talk with you about it.  And at a huge city-wide party like the Saturday before St. Patrick's Day, with a little Guinness loosening the tongues, means that we're all one big, happy Irish family, no matter what part of world you truly hail from.  I don't feel alone anymore on St. Patrick's Day.  I have the biggest family in the world.

Joe Biden stopped by in 2012

And don't forget the after party!