I remember the first time that I was pinched on Saint Patrick’s Day.
I was in elementary school – a new school, which seemed to happen every year. Mother was Irish enough that she didn’t believe that we needed to ‘prove’ anything to anyone. Just don’t wear orange, said my Catholic mother. Only Protestants wear orange, so don’t you dare.
Well, I didn’t wear green and I didn’t wear orange, and I was black and blue before the day was over!
The last time I was pinched, I had forgotten what day it was. Our downstairs neighbor’s red-haired, proudly Irish daughter, who was eight years old at the time, caught me the moment that she saw me. Not because I wasn’t wearing green – it was because I was wearing a bright, orange shirt. Ouch!