Happy St. Patrick's Day

I assume I'm like most people in that I don't really know what this day is about. This is not an open invitation for people to post the history of St. Patrick's day in the comments; if I really want to know, I too can type "wikipedia" in my google toolbar.

Frankly, my wearing green is more of a routine than an honoring St. Patrick or Irish Culture. In fact, I've been known not to wear green on purpose, so I could coyly ask the pretty girls to pinch me. That's me: prostituting the patron saint of Ireland for a flirtation. That's me: not religious and not aware of history.

But St. Patrick's Day does have some significance for me. This morning while walking my dog through his favorite shrubbery, I remembered Grandpa coming to my home in Hayward on March 17th--this was over 15 years ago--wearing nothing green except for a leaf gently tucked under his collar. He forgot the 17th was "Wear Your Green Day." Who could blame him? He was Japanese, and he didn't drink alcohol.

I can't remember exactly what year it was, but I distinctly remember seeing him walk through the front door of the Hayward house wearing a leaf from the front yard. I can visualize the leaf. I can see his gray sweater clearly.

It's sad that, in all likelihood, the exact year of this event is forever lost. I simply can't remember. My brother doesn't remember either. My mom, who frequently tells this story, doesn't remember. And Grandpa is gone.

I can sit logically and try to count back the years to when I lived in Hayward, but at a certain point, time turns all my memories into one anachronistic globule. Maybe there is a photograph of the leaf somewhere with a date stamp, but finding that picture would be almost as impossible as deducing the date in my mind. I imagine this is what it will be like trying to remember my own age when I'm much older: using hopeless logic to think my way into knowledge. In brutal truth, that date is gone. One of the most vivid memories of my grandfather exists outside of a chronological context. And I feel uneasy that no amount of research or interviewing will every bring me closer.

The anachronism isn't limited to 15 plus years ago. It has spread. Honestly, I can't remember how many years ago Grandpa died. I remember it was October. I remember I was in college. But what year? 2004? 2005? Others in my family probably know, but again, this yet another example of my family dissolving away through time like Marty McFly playing "Earth Angel."

My memories of Grandpa are more like feelings rather than actual memories. I can remember sensations of him sitting on the couch or trying to figure out how to turn off the house alarm, but I only have a few memories I can actually visualize. And the leaf on St. Patrick's Day is one of them.

I realize the post today is somewhat self-indulgent and personal to the point that no one else truly cares. But what other day of the year could I post something like this? On this exact day, an unknown number of years ago, Grandpa walked into my house wearing a leaf. And I remember it.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.