Happy St. Patrick's Day

I'm not Irish. I don't have any great "I got shit-faced drunk and jacked off on Grant's tomb" St. Patrick’s Day stories. I do have a childhood story tied into the Irish that will have to work in its place. When I was younger, the quick buck always appealed to me. Hell, it still does. The quickest way to make some cash when you're a kid is to shovel snow. The rich and the elderly are usually a sound target. So one day, a snow day my guess, I decided to make some money. First, the rich prick that lived across the street. Oh and I was forced to take my sister. I was about 10 or 11 at the time, so that makes my sister about 8. You know how much snow an 8 year old shovels? It's about the same amount a 28 year old girl shovels...so basically nothing. The idea was we'd split the money, even though I was shoveling about 80% to her 20%. So we knock on the door of the rich prick and the rich prick's wife answers. This rich pricks were part of the new wave of neighbors. Fancy cars, nice clothes and landscaped lawns. After a bit of haggling she agreed for us to shovel. I think she chewed us down to 20 bucks. Thanks Yenta. So we (me) break our asses and finish the walkway, driveway and sidewalk. 20 bucks in hand. We're rich! I'm sore. Let's keep moving. I promise the Irish tie-in is coming.

Our next target: The elderly! And much to our luck, the elderly live right next door to the rich prick. Let's keep the shoveling momentum going. "Knock, knock" It's Marie. Now Marie is a great lady. She lived across the street from me. Her husband Frank, another great man was recently deceased. They lived together on our block for 50 years. They were the original owners. They were both Irish. I promise we’re getting closer. I can't tell you how many baseball, wiffle ball, kick ball home runs I launched into their lawn, car, windows, and roof, but it has to be in the thousands. We'd see them all the time. They'd smile and say hello and ask us how we were all doing. They were genuinely nice people. In fact, most of the people on the block were. They were all around the same age. I liked my old neighbors. They always said hello to me, they were always home on Halloween for candy and always told me how good a baseball player I was. So anyway, Marie lets us shovel her property. It's about the double the size of the prick's house. After what felt like hours, we finally finished and knocked on the door awaiting our huge windfall. She let us in. I'll never forget the smell of her house. It smelled like an old person's house, but not as flagrant. It was very neat, and the living room was dark blue. After a minute, she came back from the kitchen. "Thank you so much, you did a great job" Oh no problem Marie. Just pay me old lady, time is money. That was an inside thought. And then she handed me something. It was a cake pan wrapped in tin foil. She said, "I baked you an Irish soda bread." I replied, “Thanks so much, it was our pleasure" and left. I was devastated. I had worked my nuts off for some cash and I got handed a stupid loaf of strange smelling bread. What the fuck am I supposed to buy with this? Or something to that effect was probably my thought. We walked home plopped our fat asses down and started bitching to my mother. Stuff along the lines of “That cheap bitch didn't pay us anything.” “What a fucking asshole” I was advanced for my age. But, we were hungry. So we took off the foil and tried the bread. Fucking bread! Maybe I was just starving, but it was actually pretty good. Actually I think I ate the entire loaf minus the 20% for my sister. 10 bucks each and some bread. What a disaster.

Unfortunately, Marie passed away a couple of years later. Pretty soon after, the rest of the old people on my block either moved or died. But things change I guess. We have new neighbors now. I don't know any of their names. I don't know their kids' names. I’m pretty sure they don’t know mine. I played softball against my next door neighbor a couple of years ago. We played 2 games. He didn't even recognize me. I said hello towards the end and it took about 5 seconds for it to register who I was. Oh, and that rich prick I shoveled for first. I HAVEN'T SPOKEN TO THEM SINCE!!! 15 YEARS!!! You know what. I miss those old people. I miss the people that knew my name. The people that gave me a card on my birthday. I miss the older generation.

It snowed pretty recently. My dad is not able to shovel his walk and there‘s no one to do it for him besides me. I live too far away to just come over and shovel. It snowed on a Monday. Wednesday night I made it over to my dad's and you know what, the snow was still there. Everyone else's was gone. But not his. How sad. I'm willing to bet the old neighbors wouldn't have let that happen. If I had the chance, I wish I could shovel Marie's driveway again, because I knew she would have done it for us. I’d shovel it a thousand times. At the time, I was too young and stupid to recognize it, but she handed us that bread for 2 reasons. One, she probably didn’t have the money. The second, its not something she should have paid us for. It was just the right thing for us to do. And she was right. I'm glad she didn't pay us. It would have cheapened the memory. I miss that Irish soda bread. It's never tasted as good since. And I miss Marie. So in the spirit of the St. Patrick's Day, when you get shit faced on Tuesday, just remember, puke on your prick neighbor's front door and try to leave the elderly alone. Unless they're pricks too, then fuck 'em.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.