Todayâs guest blogger is Mysterious Ways assistant editor Daniel Kessel.
Whatâs the most unusual place youâve celebrated Saint Patrickâs Day? The year after I graduated from high school, I took a âgap yearâ and taught English in Argentina.
Iâd studied Spanish since middle school and always wanted to do a cultural exchange program. So when I found a trustworthy program, I was thrilled.
My family was happy that I would have the opportunity to see a different part of the world, but they had their reservations.
âItâs not very practical,â my parents said. âShouldnât you go straight to college?â
âWeâll miss you for your birthday,â said my grandfather. âAnd Easter!â
âAnd Saint Patrickâs Day!â my grandmother chimed in.
My grandmother has always been proud of her Irish heritage. Her own grandmother, Alice Dunn of County Clare, came through Ellis Island in the early 1900s. Every Saint Patrickâs Day, my grandmother invited the grandkids over for a traditional corned beef and cabbage dinner. She also gave us little green envelopes with cartoon leprechaun cards inside (and, for good luck, a little bit of pocket money). It was a holiday we all cherished.
I flew out in early March. âItâs only for a few months,â I reassured my parents. âWe can Skype every day.â And I told my grandmother not to worryâIâd find a way to celebrate St. Patrickâs Day there.
Truth be told, I had no idea how Iâd celebrate an Irish holiday in the middle of Argentina! I had other things on my mind the day I arrived in Buenos Aires. During the cab ride to the exchange programâs office, I started wondering… what would my students be like? Would I have a good host family?
The program director greeted me at the office. âHello, Daniel!â he said. âAre you ready for orientation week? Your colleagues are waiting for you in the other room.â
Orientation week? I guess Iâd skipped that part of the brochure. I followed Fernando into another room and found myself face to face with an animated group. My fellow English teachers. âHi,â I said. âIâm Dan.â
âHey there,â said one of the guys, shaking my hand. âMy name is Mark.â His accentâthe sharp, elongated âaââwas easy to place. Irish.
A girl with blond hair stood up and smiled. âIâm Kate,â she saidâthe stress on that final âtâ a clear sign of her Irish nationality.
Siobhan. Paul. Fionnuala. As my fellow teachers introduced themselves one by one, it dawned on me that I was the only American teaching this semester. Everyone else in the program was Irish. Thatâs what I call luck!
Or was it something more? I hadnât planned for it, but orientation week became a highlight of my trip. We learned the essentials about Argentina, and I got to know some warm and funny Irish people my own age, too. I even found out that one of them, Linda, was from County Clareâjust like my ancestor, Alice.
Homesickness? A wee bit, but my grandmother could rest assured knowing that Iâd fallen into good hands, especially on the final night of orientation week: March 17th, Saint Patrickâs Day.
Do you have a Saint Patrickâs Day memory where you felt Godâs presence in your life? Send us your story!