When people would ask me "what I was..." it was always more of a philosophical question for me than many of my friends. Because I was adopted into my family, I'm not really sure what my ethnic background is. The pale skin and faint freckles (along with the strong Irish Catholic contigency in the Greater Lehigh Valley) there is better chance than not that I am at least a little Irish. But who knows for sure? And so what am I supposed to answer...do I answer that I am Irish because my adopted parents are Irish? Do I say I don't know? Does it warrant this much thought?
Teresa didn't think so. I think she would say I was Irish because I was a Mullin and that was that. Here's a little known secret - I haven't actually finished my sister's book. I've picked it up and read through a few pages, a chapter, or a few chapters at a time, but the thought of finishing the book with having a million more questions to ask is kind of terrifying. I've been told that while she addresses my birth in the book, she didn't address my adoption. I recently just got to that chapter and even though I knew this - was still shocked at the omission. Why would she not include that I was adopted? While I've posited so many possibilities, the only thing that really makes sense is that it didn't matter. I was her sister (her Irish sister at that), and that was that. So like everyone else, I enjoyed being Irish for a day. And acting Irish today is like acting Irish any other day of the year, because I'm a Mullin daughter and I'm proud of it!
Just thought I'd share that philosophical query with you. Happy St. Patrick's Day!
...5 days til the Shamrock Marathon!
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