The Irish American question - am I Irish or American?
In New Jersey it’s one thing, but in Ireland it’s another
In New Jersey, I know what I am, and so does mostly everyone else. It’s easy, sure, I’m Irish. (Again, the name pretty much gives it away). In America you can be Irish, German, Italian, Polish, this or that or some exotic mix of them all. It’s only in rare cases do you find someone who identifies as simply “American”.
But as I’ve travelled between New Jersey and Ireland, as well as a few other European countries, the question ‘What are you?’ has come up here and there. Meaning, of course, what nationality am I?
Perhaps my earliest encounter with such a discussion was when I was still in elementary school and had to get measured for a uniform for the following year. Standing in line, my name was eventually called up by the tailor. When I got up to the front to have my measurements taken, the tailor asked, “Kerry O’Shea...Polish, right?”
I looked up at him with my childish naivete, confused and astounded all at once. Did he really think I was Polish with a name like Kerry O’Shea?
“No, I’m Irish! My dad’s from Ireland!”
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Evidently he didn’t expect me to be so baffled at his honest joke and laughed in response saying “Oh, you almost had me!” Nowadays, I would joke along and just say, ‘Yes, very Polish.’
Growing up in a small town in New Jersey, I was always known as one of the “Irish” kids. Having a parent from a different country can be sort of a novelty for other kids born to American parents. Young kids meeting my dad and hearing his Irish accent can be thrown off at times, but are always intrigued.
I spent a solid 15 years competitively Irish dancing, so every year for talent shows I was up on stage doing a reel or whatnot. St. Patrick’s Day was an obligatory day off from school, mainly because I was making runs around town to do different performances. I had, literally, the opportunity to put my heritage on display throughout my youth. (Which, of course, doesn’t mean to imply that all Irish dancers are Irish and only Irish, but that’s a whole other discussion.)
In high school, I found my closest friends to be of similar heritage; they were mostly children of one or more immigrants from Ireland. I suppose you could chalk it up to the fact that we had an inherent understanding of each other. We were “the Irish kids,” and all of our parents were friends or, at the very least, acquaintances from when they had first moved to the US when they were younger. Our parents encountered an almost instant sense of community that lingers on today amongst Irish immigrants.
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