St. Patrick’s Day

blarney stone

I don’t remember too many St. Patrick’s Days (most of them are a blur in my memory by the next morning, if you know what I mean, ha ha). But I remember one.

It must have been around 1983. Because I remember I was carrying around copies of this punk rock tabloid that I was publishing at the time, to show off to people to try and impress them. Ha ha.

The sister of my best childhood buddy was living in the Mission District of San Francisco at the time. And my childhood buddy was going to be visiting San Francisco for St. Patrick’s Day. So she called me up out of the blue and said why don’t we get together for old time’s sake?

That sounded like fun (I was much less shy back then). But I felt a twinge of fear as I knocked on the door of her apartment. Because my buddy’s mother was also visiting. And she always scared me when I was a little kid. She was this big, brassy woman who towered over you. And she was always loudly shouting at, or threatening, her children, or any of the other neighborhood kids in the vicinity of her vocal chords.

Sure enough, as soon as the door opened came the familiar booming voice. “PETER!!! PEEE-TER!!!” (that’s my real name). She had a big smile on her face and she gave me a big bear hug. But I was slightly shocked and surprised at how TINY she was. I guess I was expecting the towering figure of my childhood.

And then my childhood best buddy and another childhood friend showed up. And that was another shock. I barely recognized them. I hadn’t seen them since they were little kids after all.

Market Street

But an interesting transformation took place as we sat there in her living-room sipping on our drinks and talking about the old days. The more we talked, the more I recognized them as the kids I once knew. So after awhile it was like talking to these little kids who just happened to be inside these gigantic adult bodies. Which was cool.

We went to an Irish bar on Market St. And drank many mugs of green-colored beer as we watched the parade go by. Which was fun. And afterwards, as we walked down Market St., I noticed much festive green-colored puke on the sidewalks and gutters. And that’s what the holidays are all about, man! Adding a little color to our day.

And that’s all I remember about that day.




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