I grew up in a small street, on a hill which overlooked the city of Boston skyline. We were a street of almost entirely Irish Catholic families, most of whom were first generation, some of whom spoke with a brogue. My childhood was surrounded and forever influenced by these newly immigrant families.

My Irish Feeney Boston family and mother Claire were known for spur of the moment piano playing, poetry reading, dancing, singing out loud, playing cards and drinking hearty. ...Needless to say, my childhood was unique. St. Paddy’s Day was like a national holiday – the beer was green, the pubs were packed, the parade important and we all blessed the corned beef and cabbage on the way down.

Actually, the Irish friendly city of Boston goes much further south than most know. The Cape Cod Irish restaurant pub was alive with dancing and music where we lived all summer when I was growing up, late into the wee hours of the weekend. I remember packed rooms with the fiddles playing to the Celtic beat, and all the musicians singing with a thick Brogue, and patrons joyously joining in. My parents danced the night away on Saturday nights while I was given an education of a lifetime. It was loud, raucous and lovely. My childhood was unique, indeed.

In time, I eventually lived on Cape Cod myself every summer with a roommate here and there. By now I was working side by side in restaurants and motels with others my age who had just come over from Ireland. Year after year so many came, as the Irish restaurants made sure to faithfully host and employ them, like family. We all had summer jobs together, went out to the pubs on the weekends to sing and dance, and spent our days on the beach in the sun. 
 
Then on Labor Day weekend, we all headed home. Us to Boston and them to Dublin. My last memory of those Irish days long ago and far away was as I sat at laundromat in West Harwich, Cape Cod. It was late, it was hot and I was tired. My clothes were inside drying while I was sitting outside on the bench taking in the starry night and watching the occasional car drive by. I was sad to see the summer come to an end. Suddenly my friend Kathleen drove up to say goodbye. She was leaving to go home to Dublin the next day and my roommate told her where I was as she just didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. It never quite occurred to me that someday I would never see her or most of my Irish family again. 
 
“Have you ever been to Ireland?” she asked as she got into her car ready to drive away, forever. “You really should come visit someday. Look me up, ok?!." She reached out and grabbed my hand, and squeezed it, "You always have a friend in Ireland,” she said with a lilt and smile.
Indeed.

“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields..”