My Life as a Black Irish Woman | A St. Patrick’s Day Short Story

Please enjoy this personal story of mishap and foolery only St. Patrick could inspire.

A Black Irish Woman

Why would anyone add an extra “e” to the end of Green? It’s always seemed like an unnecessary variation of the original, but coincidentally the source of my long-time introductory bit, “Hi, I’m Erin Green — like the color.”

All in all, my name is spectacularly simple. It’s brief, aesthetically pleasing, and according to my mother, dummy-proof. I’d go as far as to call it unremarkable until the second week of March when green frocks and drunken buffoonery overrun the streets. I doubt St. Patrick prophecized being the patron saint of college bar fights; nevertheless, St. Patrick’s Day remains one of the most highly celebrated national holidays in Western countries.

Leprechauns threaten unfettered chaos, emerald currents ripple down The Chicago River, and amongst the onslaught of the Irish folklore and absurdities is a black girl from Texas named Erin Green. With Green being the holiday’s official color and Webster’s Dictionary defining Erin as “the poetic, literary name for Ireland,” it’s always attracted a small degree of fanfare.