Beneath the blogger, and past the artist, is the woman. And in many ways as I look at what I am today, I see who I was as a child. Like all of us, I'm an amalgamation of things I saw, opportunities I had, and who I learned from.
In July of some year in the mid nineteen-fifties I fashioned what I must have thought of as very Yankee Doodle-ish hats out of folded newspaper, decorated neighborhood bike spokes with red white and blue streamers, grabbed my baton and organized a parade for the neighborhood kids. For as long as I can remember, the summer holidays, with their wave of patriotism have been special to me.
Some of what makes me who I am is there on a cellular level. Most of my family genepool is rooted in
colonial America of the very early 1600s. Only one grandfather came later - and he from Thurles in County Tipperary
Ireland around 1900.
It was he
who taught me my earliest and most profound lessons about what it meant
to be a proud - and grateful - American.
It's not that the
other grandparents - those of the deep New England family trees - were not patriots. Through the generations each defended their country when need arose.
One, William Allison, was with the Mount Joy Militia in the Revolution. Another, Martin Gifford, carried his friend General Strong Vincent down from Little Round Top where he was mortally wounded in the battle of Gettysburg.
It's just that Grandpa Ryan -
with the thick brogue, ready tune to hum, black thorn walking stick and perpetually misplaced reading glasses - nearly glowed when he spoke of the opportunity that this country had
afforded his sister Mary Ryan Clair and her husband Jerry - and then he and two brothers who
followed them to Lake County Ohio. continue reading below -
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