Even though I’m not Catholic, we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day —it’s my son, Steve’s birthday. Why we’ve even gone to Ireland to celebrate—twice.

Back in 2000, Steve took a job in England. So, Jay and I and Laura, our then 9-year-old daughter flew to Dublin arriving in the morning mist. Lush, velvety green hills enveloped us, making it obvious why this country is called the Emerald Isle.

Our taxi was forced to drop us blocks from our hotel; the holiday parade was swarming all over the streets. I felt self-conscious and out of place as I rolled my luggage down the sidewalk to St. Stephen’s Green. There, at last, was our hotel.