The Painting of the Green

When I was a kid (young and impressionable) my mom would say "we are going to City Hall to have our asses painted green for St. Patty's Day."  That always scared the bejeevers out of me, because I would imagine the humiliation of pulling down my drawers in front of a stranger who'd then hastily slap emerald green paint . . . all over. I even imagined the line up of people from all over the city waiting their turns.   Mom never loaded us into a taxi to make the trip to City Hall (in those days we traveled by taxi being a one car family) and I was so thankful.  I thought she'd forgotten, so I was oh, so careful not to bring it up before the 17th.

Eventually I asked just how much paint was applied.  Mom said "oh, it's just a dab-- like on you hip."  Sighs of relief-- you really didn't have to bare your bum to the officials.  I guess those were the days before DIY and going to  City Hall made it official.  As a kid what did I know?  Mom's don't lie--right?

Years later mom and I laughed about the "said" tradition and my interpretation of the horrifying event.  From that point on we'd call each another to remind of scheduling a trip together for the occasion.  When Mom was in a nursing home and I was living in Canada I sent her a plant of shamrocks for St. Patty's Day with a message to meet me at City Hall.  I explained to the lady taking the order why shamrocks were important which provoked laughter.  She said she'd never heard that one before.

My brother says my grandmother was responsible for that joke.  My younger sister said she thought "it was something I made up to scare my stepchildren." She doesn't ever remember hearing mom say a thing about it.  Does that mean that my mom loved me best, or I was more gullible than the rest?

And there you have the rest of the story . . .

Would you like to meet me at City Hall on Thursday?