Chris Clegg
There are definitely perks to being born on holidays, and vice versa.
For instance, being born on Christmas Day might get you an extra present, but you might also be robbed of a celebration, unless your parents grant you another day to celebrate. Valentine’s Day? Who needs even more chocolates or cakes?
I proudly claim to be a “Green Day Kid.” That’s right, I was born on St. Patrick’s Day. March 17. A day set aside to celebrate and drink green beer! Blech!
St. Patrick was the foremost patron saint of Ireland and died March 17, 461. The day commemorates the arrival of Christianity in Ireland. Legend has it he drove snakes from Ireland although it is suspected no snakes lived in the region he inhabited. You know these silly legends grow.
But, hey! We also dress up in costumes and go door-to-door each Halloween so what it is to stretch the story a bit and use March 17 as an excuse to drink? Any excuse to have a party!
Being born March 17, rarely anyone I know forgets my birthday. It seems like this March 17 is a bigger deal than most admit. Except for Christmas, most do not remember birthdays if they fall on July 1 or Oct. 31. I suppose Feb. 14 is an exception, but I know no one in the family born on that day. If there is, see how easy I forget? My point is made!
March 17 did bring with it an interesting story. I was raised Anglican – not Angli’thing’ like my nephew Jason used to say when he was little. I was named Christopher Harvey Clegg. The middle name Harvey came from one of my father’s teammates and good friends in fastball. Apparently, mom came up with Christopher. My older brothers like to brag the good names were already taken by the time I came around. Yes, that’s you, Gerald and Ben!
When it came time to baptize me, mom hauled me off to see the minister to make arrangements. True story, he insisted on changing my name because of the Anglican faith and importance of March 17. He could not understand how Patrick wasn’t selected. He suggestion was to rename me Patrick Christopher Harvey Clegg or Christopher Patrick Harvey Clegg.
As mom tells the story, she hit the roof and stomped out of the church.
“How dare anyone tell me what to name my child?” she told the minister while packing up her newest bundle of joy.
To make a long story short, mom eventually got her way. I imagine to this day the minister had to eat a few words, however. Mom could be kind of stubborn and there was no way she was giving in! The nerve of that guy!
Patrick is not a bad name but way to go, mom! I am perfectly happy with Christopher!
Next week I celebrate another birthday. I have never been one to celebrate the big day with an abundance of enthusiasm. Getting older means less celebration. Turing, 20, 40, 50 or 60 never bothered me. Just another number. The only age that bothered me was 25, but that story is best left untold. A quarter-century! Sheesh!
My check list for Sunday’s big day probably involves a carrot cake and pizza. Maybe I’ll enjoy a couple of Caesars while working at the office. In winter, Sunday is the day I comprise North Peace Hockey League statistics. Thank goodness only one game to process. I might even spoil myself and sleep in!
And wait for some birthday wishes. Not phone calls anymore, but text messages and emails because as you already know, no one forgets March 17.