It’s St. Patrick’s Day, and I’m feeling very under-represented.

I am not Irish. I married a handsome Irish lad, but I myself, do not lay claim this day. I realize that on March 17, "everyone is Irish," but I think we all know that historically and genetically, this cannot really be true.

In this time of unprecedented political correctness, I want a recognized day for my heritage. I want a day where the country comes together and boils meat under my flag. I want a day where everyone color-coordinates their clothing to their alcohol. After all, I don’t think the Irish should exclusivity on drinking to excess in the name of national pride. I want my Scotch-German-Canadian ancestors to be represented!

No doubt my husband is singing "Green Alligators and Long Necked Geese," with a Kelly or Murphy right now with pseudo-kinfolk in a crowded pub. I am at home preparing the traditional corned beef and cabbage; that celebration of the palate known as Irish cuisine. I am musing that perhaps a day in August (that’s a light holiday month) we should be preparing haggis and bratwurst. I think it is only fair.

And perhaps every August 27 (I have selected an arbitrary date for your convenience) we should all wear red and yellow plaid to embrace all three cultures. We will drink beer (good Canadian lager or a German stout) that has been dyed red. I realize that this may look a bit macabre, but it is in keeping with the holiday spirit.

Instead of buttons saying, "Kiss me I’m Irish!" We’ll wear ones that say, "Get the hell away from me, I’m German." Or, "Under My Kilt I’m Scottish!"

Oh, the parades we’ll have! David Hasselhoff, Sean Connery and Celine Dion will be co-Grand Marshals in the spirit of international brotherhood. City offices in Niagara Falls and Germantown will shut down for the day. Bad high school bands will belt out "Auld Lang Syne" and "The Hockey Song," to the hoarse cheers of the crowd. Instead of floats with leprechauns and those adorable Irish dancers; we’ll have Frau Gretel doing the polka with Mounties. It’ll be great fun.

It occurs to me that to lend legitimacy to this holiday, we should honor a patron saint. St. Jean Brebeuf of Canada converted some Indians--not too exciting. St. Andrew of Scotland is frequently invoked for the relief of stiff necks and gout. Again, not exactly Catholic glamour. But then I found that the patron saint of Germany, St. George, drove a dragon out of that country and saved countless sacrificial virgins. I think that’s way cooler than snakes.

Every summer fathers will fish out the decorations from the attic; little maple leaf lights and bagpipe garland. We’ll all exchange the traditional gifts; Discounted Canadian drugs wrapped in tartans that are piled under Scotch Pines. We’ll cap off our holiday feast of blood sausage with a shot of Scotch and a drunken toast to Steffi Graf and Wolfgang Puck. (Wait…Wolfgang is Austrian...maybe Helmut Kohl?)

So fellow Scottish-German-Canadian Americans: it is high time we regain our national pride. Mark your calendars for August 27, and decked in kilts and lederhosen we will join together in celebratory solidarity at our favorite Tim Horton’s.

(We Canadians love our donuts you know.)

©2005 Tracey Henry