I would like to think Mark Koopmans for making me relive this most painful memory. I will be brave for the sake of the blogfest.
When I was a little African American girl, I found this photo of a women sitting on her porch with the Irish flag framed and hung on the wall behind her. On the back of the photos was written the words Emma Pearl Pierce 1945. The women in the photo looked old and it was a grainy black and and white photos, but there was no mistaking it. Here was proof. I had an Irish great grand mother. How cool is that?
I took the photo to school for show and tell and told everyone about my great grand mother Emma. I had created this elaborate story (big surprise) about how she was born in Ireland and because of the potato famine* her family fled Ireland and settled in Virginia and then 60 some odd years later, I was born. I was so proud. *I might have had the dates a little confused considering the Potato Famine occurred in 1845.
Now, there were some disbelievers (again, big surprise), especially Kathleen Flanagan, my best friend. She had red hair and freckles and she was not ready to welcome me into her proud Irish clan.
I remember she called me a fibber (bad word, we were 7) and pulled my hair, which was certainly not red.
But, I, as a proud Irish women stood up for myself and my nationality and declared over and over again, I AM BLACK IRISH!
It turns out I am not Black Irish. The photos was of my great grandmother, but because of the quality of the photos, it made her look lighter. And the flag in the back, wasn’t an Irish flag. It was a french flag my great grandfather brought back from France.
Needless to say, I was crushed. I was just a regular little black girl from Texas. I was so disappointed.
How about your? You have any good Irish stories?
They would look the same in a black and white photo.
My mother’s family is what you might call “annoyingly Irish,” three generations removed from the Auld Sod and still making a big deal out of it. Thus, I was happy to learn in high school that my father’s family, while they came to the US from Ireland, were actually English and Welsh.
haha. I guess I know which side you claim.
I have no idea if there’s any truth to it, but my great grandmother used to go around saying, “I’m Irish and I’m Dutch, and I don’t amount to much!” When I was little I giggled, but when I realized what she was saying, I was more like, “Hey, that’s not nice!”
Haha. I wonder if she realized it when she was saying it.
LOL…awwww….it’s tough when our childhood memories are dashed. Great story though 🙂
I know. I need to use this imagination for good.
I have the red hair, but I’m mostly Scots, not Irish. And all so long since that I’ve no roots back there. I can fake it with the best, though!
All I can do is fake the accent and even that’s not any good.
I love this story 🙂 In a way I could say sorry you’re not Irish, and yet I think your heritage is pretty cool all on its own! 🙂
It is quite cool, but I always wanted to be different and there were no other African Irish people in my world.
I’m sorry!
But your story is hilarious.
I’m so pleased that my childhood trauma is so amusing to everyone. Haha.
I’m Irish and would be proud to adopt you into my clan anytime – great story! 😉
Aww, thanks. I accept the invitation. 🙂
Aw, I’d share my corned beef and cabbage with you any day : )
Painful memory perhaps but it makes for a great story.
Thanks for sharing.
Heather
I’m sorry too, Sydney! I can relate in a way – my maternal grandpa is full Native American, and my mom is half. I’m really proud of my heritage, so when I was a teen I was upset I’m not full Native American. I didn’t want to be only a quarter. Is that weird?
I’m guessing if I have to ask, then it probably is weird. >.<
Sorry for your disappointment, but this is a funny story. Researching one’s genealogy can be quite the experience. My dad’s family is German, Irish, and Cherokee–and, well, they have the drinking part down.