From left: Barb Powell, Dad, and I on the pub crawl in Traverse City. Courtesy photo.
By Christine Stapleton
St. Patrick’s Day has always been special and fun in my family. My Mom is a quick-tempered Irish lass with roots in Tipperary County in Ireland. My Dad’s tale, as told by my grandfather, has his family coming to the U.S. through Canada during the potato famine in Ireland. They changed their name from McEwen to Stapleton and came over as an English family, since the Irish were not welcome at that time.
In the early ’90s, I moved back to the area after college, a career and a divorce. At the time, my dad was also single and we got to “hang out” as adults. My dad’s favorite event was the Traverse City pub crawl on St. Patrick’s Day. For many years, we started at noon and followed the bagpipe band through town in our green attire and full-on Irish attitude, singing and dancing and maybe a drinking a pint or two.
One year we had a wee bit of a setback. Dad’s ticker was acting up, and he was scheduled for a heart catheterization on his special holiday. I took him in for the procedure and waited hours in the recovery room with him, until they finally took off the sandbag that helped his leg’s catheter wound heal. It was close to 5 p.m., and my dad begged the doctor to let me take him for a St. Patty’s Day drink. The doc gave me a steely gaze then finally agreed ⸺ but just one.
Dad had other plans.
Several hours later, in Dill’s (Olde Towne) Saloon, he was standing at a table and tapping his feet when who should walk by but Doc Rafferty. Oh, no. Doc picked up the leg of my dad’s pants, to make sure he wasn’t dripping blood, then he gave me the most icy glare I’ve ever received and stern instructions to go straight home. I felt like a schoolgirl busted for smoking in the locker room, even though I’d managed to keep him off the dance floor. So home we went, and all was well.
When Dad passed away in 2011, I couldn’t celebrate for several years. Then our family found a new tradition in Glen Arbor at Art’s Tavern, with great Irish folk music and lots of Irish cheer. Last year, with COVID-19, it was a small family gathering. We wore our green and celebrated our Irish heritage.
I can’t help but think about my dad on March 17 ⸺ and all our crazy and fun pub-crawling adventures ⸺ and every time I hear “O’ Danny Boy”.
Cheers, Dad. Hope it’s St. Patrick’s Day every day for you.
Christine Stapleton is an area real estate broker. She lives on a farm with her border collies, sheep and a sweet barn cat.
