“When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure ‘tis like the morn in Spring…”

Sure it is.  Cloudy.  Cold.  With just a hint of the bitter wind of Winter still in the air.  Wait a minute.  That’s my eyes I’m talking about.  Sorry, I guess I got confused again.  Oh, I’m Irish alright, but most of you probably wouldn’t accuse my eyes of smiling a lot.  I’m more like Eeyore, “And a good day to you too.  If it is a good day.  Which I doubt”.

 But all that aside, I really am Irish.  My Great-grandfather Horner was born in County Armagh in the North.  He was the patriarch of an extended family who settled in the “Cherokee Strip” in Oklahoma Territory in 1894.  My Great-grandfather Dunlavy arrived here much earlier and settled his family in the Stephen F. Austin Colony in Texas sometime around 1832.  So being solidly descended from the “Wild Geese,” today is a good day for me without doubt.  Even though here in Wyandotte it’s cloudy, cold, a mist in the air with that subtle hint that Winter isn’t quite gone yet, my Irish eyes are smiling anyway. 

Thanks to the large emigration of brothers, cousins, and countless friends from Ireland to the US in the 1800’s, today—Saint Patrick’s Day—is still one of the more joyful holidays we celebrate.  It’s known for parades, parties, corned beef and cabbage, and of course, green beer.  (Unfortunately I’ve reached an age where green beer doesn’t sit that well with me, but the Sergeant Major just told me she thinks there’s some green bologna in the back of the fridge somewhere.)

 St Patrick, though, was actually British.  He was born to Roman parents in the vicinity of the England/Scotland border.  While in his teens, he was kidnapped and taken to Ireland by Niall of the Nine Hostages.  (What a great name for a terrorist, huh?) Anyway, Niall sold him for a few bucks, and his new owner put him to work as a shepherd.  For six years he lived alone with only his sheep for company.  Not much else is known of this period of his life, as even then, people did not find it comfortable to talk about lonely teenage boys and their sheep.  But at some point, he began to hear a voice from God.  Go figure. 

 Anyway, the voice told him that the time had come for him to escape, “See, your ship is ready”.  Patrick looked down the mountain but couldn’t see any ship.  He couldn’t even see the sea for that matter, so he started walking.  Some 200 miles later he came to the sea, and sure enough there was a ship.  He got on it, and sailed back to Briton where he was immediately captured by another band of terrorists and sold back into slavery.  The voice in his head told him just to go with it for a couple of months and it would be OK.  And so it was.

He spent the next seven years just banging around Europe trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life.  After getting his fill of German beer, French cheese, and Italian spaghetti, he decided that he would become a true servant of God.  He entered a monastery to study, and eventually returned to England as a priest. 

 Meanwhile, back in Ireland, the few Christians who were there were really having a bad time of it at the hands of the Druids.  It seems these Druids could really hit the “threes”, and the Christians just weren’t able to get it through the hoop.  (Hey, it’s March, right?)  So they called back to the Pope to see if he had anybody on the bench who might be able to contribute. The Pope calls out Patrick, makes him a Bishop, and sends him into the game. 

 They had a little success then, converting Dichu, a major landowner, to the Christian side, and they played defense OK, but the offense just couldn’t seem to get untracked.  Around Easter time, they decided to let it all hang out, and built a large bonfire in honor of Easter.  Now, this may not sound like much, except that the Druids reserved the lighting of the first bonfire of Spring for their High King, a guy named Laoghaire.  To say they were some kind of pissed off is to put it mildly.  Things really got physical then, but Patrick kept his cool, impressing the King, who gave him a chance to speak. 

 Patrick explained to the King, that unlike the Druids who believed that there were many gods in nature, the Christians only believed in one God who had three personalities—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Well, the Druids just fell out.  They were standing there laughing their asses off, when Patrick quickly reached down to the ground and pulled up a sprig of clover.  He pointed out to Laoghaire:  “Here.  There is one stem, but there are three leaves on it.  So it is with the Blessed Trinity.  There is one God, but three persons stemming from the same divinity”. 

 Laoghaire was mightily impressed, and didn’t even ask what Patrick would have done if he’d grabbed a four-leaf clover instead.  So he gave Patrick permission to travel throughout Ireland preaching the gospel of Christ.  He did indeed win many converts, the Dunlavy’s among them, and legend has it that God granted him his one request—that the Irish would keep their faith for all time and that they be spared the horrors of Judgment Day.  When that day comes it will be Saint Patrick himself who will judge us.  (Now you know why I made such a big deal of establishing my Irish bona fides.)

The story ends on this day—March 17—in the year 461 AD.  Patrick went to be with his Lord, and we Irish choose this day to honor his life. 

 May the road rise up to meet you.                                           
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
May the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.”
--Old Irish Blessing
“You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes,
And your smile is a thin disguise.”

Back in the day, honesty was a quality much admired.  To be thought of as a liar was to be avoided at all costs.  To be called a liar was to invite a fight.  With fists, and right now.  It grew out of the need for survival in a hostile wilderness.  When news of the day was carried by word of mouth, those mouths had better be accurate, or people could literally die.  When life and death decisions were made every day based on the word of a stranger, honesty took a prominent role in the preservation of the society.
But that was then, and this is now as they say.  Lying has been raised to new heights.  It has become even fashionable.  Misrepresenting who you are is now an art form no longer confined to the actors on a stage.  We’ve finally reached the era of Mr. Shakespeare’s prediction:  “All the world is a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”  Yeah.  We’re there.  What role do you want to play today?
Perhaps you want to overcome cancer and win the Tour de France more than once.  Just do it dishonestly and lie about it.  What’s the worst that can happen?  You get caught and invited to star on Oprah! ?  Could be worse. 
Get good enough at it and you can get elected to important government posts where you have access to other people’s money.  Lots of other people’s money.  When you can get a Senator from your own party to tell the voting public that you are “an unusually good liar” they’ll hand you a second term on a platter.  After all, we expect our Presidents to be “unusually good”.  Run-of-the-mill is not nearly good enough for us. 
But it gets better.  The practice of lying has become an art form in the Congress of the United States.  It reaches its zenith with the naming of the bills they pass into law.  A recent favorite is “The American Taxpayer Relief Act of 2012”.  This Act raised income taxes on the “rich”, and payroll taxes on everyone else.  Some “relief”. 
Dear Cowboy:
We appreciate your command of the English language, so let us point out that you are simply using the wrong interpretation of the word “relief”.  To provide “relief” you must merely “relieve” them of some burden which they are carrying.  Our Act simply “relieves” people of the excess cash that they so carelessly carry around in their pockets. 
Sincerely,
The Select Committee for the Careful Naming of Bills in the Congress of the United States

I guess they have a point.  I mean, what might have happened if all that cash started burning holes in people’s pockets all at once?  We don’t have enough firefighters to prevent  a serious catastrophe.  So, I guess it really is a relief that someone was thinking ahead.

It’s bad enough that distrust and deliberate dishonesty are eroding our social contracts.  Equally concerning is our investigation of our own universe.  It was still early in my grade school career that I was taught “the scientific method”.  This was the approach that scientists used to discover the truth about the world around us.  Simply put it taught us to: “Ask questions.  Research.  Determine the facts.  Draw conclusions”.  It resulted in the elimination of polio as a significant threat.  It got men to the Moon and back safely.  It created technological and medical advances that have made us the richest and healthiest people to ever live on this planet.  But it too is falling victim to the lie.  The new version of the method says:  “Here is the conclusion.  Research and see what facts you can find to support it.  Don’t ask any questions”.  Fundamental dishonesty.  And it limits our advancement.

We hear lots of complaints these days about the “decline of society”, and dozens of reasons from video games to single parent families to Hollywood.  But the root cause is based in a simple question and answer:
Q:  “Can I trust you?”

A:  “Probably not.”

From celebrated sports heroes to false parish priests to lying politicians to pseudo-scientists who manipulate the “facts”, we’ve come to distrust almost everyone, and almost every institution.  The devolution will continue until we start back on the road to being honest.  “Yes”, means “yes”.  “No” means “no”.  And we quit arguing about what “is” is.

“A commentary on the times is that the word 'honesty' is now preceded by 'old-fashioned'”.
--Larry Wolters