Why I Love the Irish

My father was a wonderful storyteller, a gift I did not inherit in verbal form, but I do my best with the written word. He was best at telling stories about fishing trips, the people he worked with and about his own foibles. I remember waking up to him getting louder and louder at the kitchen table as he drew near the punchline of some tale, then the explosive laughter from his friend or friends who were having breakfast after an early morning fishing trip or arrival from an overnight work stint on the railroad.

My mother was always gracious about these unexpected visits, serving coffee, eggs and bacon as she yawned her way to wakefulness. I would often throw on my clothes and join them at the table, because I enjoyed the spirit of fun they exuded. They weren't educated men, but they had heart, common sense and humor. They were telling redneck jokes about themselves before it became an industry for a new generation of comics.

My father was at least a quarter Irish, I've been told, so I inherited some small amount of that magic with words, I think.

Today The New York Times ran an excerpt from a book that was published a few years ago about "How the Irish Saved Civilization," by Thomas Cahill, following the fall of the Roman Empire. I'd read about the book before, but still enjoyed the retelling of how the books that were brought to the Emerald Isle prior to and during the Dark Ages by good old St. Patrick -- a Roman teen living in Britain who was kidnapped by Irish slave traders -- and later returned on his own to convert the unwashed masses there as a priest. He taught the heathens English and Christianity, and his converts later preserved, embraced and then cherished the books he brought to them. Other Roman Catholic priests who followed his example ingrained a love of the language and the written word. The Irish, God bless 'em, eventually became among the greatest proponents of the Western literature, which otherwise would have been lost to us due to the burning of the libraries in Rome.

Ireland has been home to great writers and poets ever since, from Joyce and Yeats to Nuala O'Faolain and Iris Murdoch. Even today some of its best poetry is written by songwriters, like Bono of the band U2 and Siobhan Fahey of the defunct pop girl group Bananarama.

And, of course, the storytelling tradition continues. I presume it's best experienced in a pub on a day like today.