Thursday, March 17, 2016

I’ll be perfectly honest: St. Patrick’s Day never really had much meaning to me. As a kid, I remember wearing green to school on March 17, only to avoid being pinched by my peers. I also remember hearing about corned beef and hash and other Irish fare, but knowing that I didn’t like it. That was the extent of my Irish upbringing.

As a mother, I have taken my little boy to the St. Patrick’s Day parades each year. We dress in our green shirts, him equipped with a bag for candy and me with my camera, and we head to the festivities. Each year, it’s the same. He asks me what it’s all about, and I really don’t have much of an answer for him, other than it has to do with the death of Saint Patrick.

Last year, I had to work on March 17. I sat in a Board of Aldermen meeting while my head was swimming with something else. You see, on March 17, 2015, I finally got up the nerve to ask a guy out. Having been divorced for a little while and fairly new to the dating scene, I figured being bold was my best bet. Lo and behold, it worked.

John and I went on our first date that same week, though we talked nonstop via text before that. Since then, we’ve spent pretty much every free moment we have together. When you meet someone, and you think they’re nice or attractive, you never think you’ll fall in love. But when you do, it is one of the best feelings to experience.

He makes me happy and feel appreciated in ways that are indescribable. The past year has been one of the best of my life, and I look forward to what the future brings. So, this St. Patrick’s Day, I’ll be toasting to being bold and going after what I want, yet being surprised by what transpires. I’ll toast to new beginnings, new friends, new people to share life experiences with. And, I’ll toast to John, the man who in one year made me the happiest girl in the world.

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