Both of my mother's parents were Irish. I can't tell you their surnames because "mother's maiden name" is, well, you know, used in identification and authentication. Well, all right, my mother's mother's maiden name was Kearns. I have to tell you that because my mother's mother's side of the family factors into the story a great deal.

Growing up in upstate NY, being Irish wasn't necessarily celebrated. Oh, everyone was aware of their ethnic heritage and, like anything, geographic areas were known by the predominant people groups populating them. But nobody I knew belonged to the Ancient Order of Hibernians. One thing I knew, growing up: my mother was from Brooklyn. You heard it in her vocabulary, her accent, her mannerisms. She taught herself not to call me "Tereser" but how she emphasized the final "a" never sounded natural.

Four years ago, I attended a family reunion in Queens and learned the level of commitment. AOH membership a given. I can't even tell you the family history ... there's too much. None of it is earth-shaking, just honest people living and working the American Dream. It's filled with everything that I love about the 20th century in the greatest city in the world.

Just a funny story: my mother's cousin, Colleen, traveled to Ireland and told my mother about it, "You remember how we didn't drink certain beers because of whose labels they were? Well, over there, they don't care about that stuff." Just an example of how the Irish abroad live more conservatively or consciously than those in Ireland. But isn't that how it is? You'll cling to the things that remind you of home.