What it means to be Irish

Yesterday was our first St. Patrick's Day meal of corned beef and cabbage. Brian demanded that our family participate in this traditional feast since our children are one-quarter Irish. I am the only non-Irish person in this family, although I'm sure with my temper there has to be Irish blood in my veins to some degree. And, I actually liked the cabbage! Yet, another veggie that I didn't know I liked. My mother wasn't the kind of mom who forced us to eat the things we didn't like - we didn't even eat the things SHE didn't like - cabbage for instance. The leftovers from our feast that I felt so compelled to seal up in tupperware are already pushed to the far back corner of the refridgerator. Corned beef and cabbage isn't like leftover ziti or meatloaf - meals that somehow taste better with age. No one ever seems to get a craving for cabbage. I have had a craving for a good ruben though.
In honor of St. Patrick's Day, Isaac received a few fatherly words of wisdom(?) and perfectly recited what it means to be Irish to me before bed -
1. God
2. Family
3. Hard work
4. Beer
I told Brian that in Missouri number four is "deer".