by Trina L. Grant

Created on: March 17, 2009   Last Updated: March 18, 2009

There is not a lot of hype about St. Patrick's Day in rural southeastern Alabama. In fact, when I moved from this rural region of Alabama called "the Wiregrass area", to Savannah, Georgia in 1986, I had never even heard of St. Patrick's Day, and I was raised in the Catholic church. Imagine my surprise my first St. Patrick's Day when I found out there was to be a parade in honor of this yearly event! My dad, mom and I got up bright and early that Sunday morning, and decided we would ride down and see what all the hubbub was about.

After driving around for what seemed like an eternity looking for a parking place, my dad finally parked our truck several blocks away from the parade route and we set off on foot in search of the festivities. Never in my young life had I seen such sights. People were drinking green beer standing on the sidewalk, and there were vendors every few feet hawking such wares as bead necklaces, firecrackers, any and every manner of deli food....I could go on and on.

The noise was an agreeable cacophony of marching bands, radios, cheering, sirens and the shouts of the street vendors. In essence, the most exciting thing this tiny redneck had ever seen. We sat on top of my dad's truck and listened to all the marching bands go by. I was used to the minuscule musical ensemble that heralded the one school in my small hometown. There were a lot of schools in Savannah, and I got to listen to my hearts delight. That is the first time I can remember hearing "When the Saints Go Marching In".

The smells were almost indescribable. That was the day I got to try my first hoagie. I also got to get a Coke that day, which we never got to have around the house. I was in bliss. I ate and screamed and clapped and danced in the bed of our truck. I developed a fondness for bagpipes that day, as well as the kilts that looked so funny on those men. We saw the green fountains that the city is famous for on St. Patrick's Day, and we saw all the people with their green attire. The next year we all wore green, like the locals. We saw people hanging out of hotel windows so far up it hurt to crane the neck to look at them, and every balcony in the city, it seems, was full to bursting.

That is one of my happiest memories with my parents. We were doing what the natives did. We were hanging out with everyone. It was exciting, and beautiful. I remember feeling the sense of pride from the marching bands and the bagpipers. It made everyone feel like they belonged, even if just for a minute. Watching grown men openly cry on the street as bagpipers play a heart-wrenching version of "Amazing Grace" is incredibly moving.

I lived in Savannah for eight years and I went to the St. Patrick's Day parade twice. The second time I was older so I did not go with my parents. For some reason, the noise was not as agreeable, the food not as tasty, and drunk people hanging off of balconies no longer that exciting. Seeing a grown man relieve himself on the floor of a moving city bus is, however, a fond memory. Still, I love the memory of the parade itself, the gallantry and majesty of the things I saw and heard. I do not know whether Chicago has the more famous St. Patrick's Day parade, but Savannah cannot be beat for their pageantry and pride.

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