My very First St. Patrick's Day celebration was when I was 15 years old. I was a senior in a high school in Long Island, a mere 45 minute train ride away from the insanity that is the St. Patrick's day parade. It was a beautiful day outside so after first period, most of us decided to make the day a senior skip day.
Following along with the people I was friends with (but never really friends with), we brought booze from some gas station in Farmingdale, and got on a train with brown paper bags that we swigged out of, giggling and looking out the window at the passing scenery. Some vague plans were made, but basically we wanted out of the suburbs, into the heart of the city and that was that.
In Manhattan everything gets hazy, I remember joining the parade, asking people for directions. Everyone amazed me, people cursed, looked different, laughed and drank together and seemed so diverse and complete.
We dance on the street, jump turnstiles, end up on the train back home as the sun slips down. The school is having float decorations for some football game, and then I'm fully back in the place where living is drudgery but life is some crazy dream, it is visions of people with green in their hair, eyes, clothes, face, even if they are from a million different places all over the world.
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