A Touch of Irish Luck

By Erin
Written 2003

Irish people have red hair. At least, a lot of Irish people have red hair. I’m Irish. I have an Irish name. I have an Irish family. I do not have red hair. Once, my Humanities teacher even asked me, “Erin, with an Irish name like that, where’s your red hair?” I have brown hair. I do have natural red highlights, but no one can see them. So they don’t count. My not having red hair gave me trouble one day.

It was my lucky day. My friends Cristina, Chelsea and I went to the mall on St. Patrick’s Day. My parents had actually given me $250 just for me to spend. So we were having a good time spending money and just walking in and out of every store. After about and hour or two, we saw a guy with a tiny green hat.

“Hey, it’s the French teacher!” Cristina pointed out.

He sure looked like the French teacher. I couldn’t believe he was still wearing the green hat and the bowtie. The three of us stopped and watched him. He walked into the food court, so we followed him. He bought green ice cream. I think it was mint chocolate chip. Then he sat down and ate it.

“Why are we following a French teacher?” I asked. “I don’t even know French.”

“I don’t know. Let’s hope he doesn’t see us,” Cristina said.

“Who would want to be spotted by a French teacher?” Chelsea said loudly.

We were spotted.

“Good job,” Cristina muttered sarcastically.

“Are you talking about me?” Chelsea asked.

The French teacher man approached us.

“I noticed you girls were talking about me,” he said with and Irish accent.

As he got closer, I realized that he wasn’t a French teacher.

“You girls are going to have to face the consequences,” he said gravely.

Cristina and Chelsea must have also realized that he wasn’t the French teacher because they scurried away quickly.

“Thanks a lot!” I called after them.

“Oh, it looks like it’s just you now… You are in big trouble – unless you fit one condition,” he said coldly.

“What’s the condition,” I asked nervously.

“Well, you wouldn’t fit it anyway,” he said without giving me a chance.

“Tell me! What’s the condition?” I insisted.

“Fine, you stubborn brat,” he said irritably, “I’ll tell you.”

“WHAT IS IT?” I said angrily.

“You have to be Irish, duh!” he told me as if it were obvious.

Well, that’s good, I thought.

“Oh, is that all? I am Irish,” I replied.

“Irish? Ha! That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!” he laughed.

“Who are you, anyway? What kind of joke is this?” I was furious.

“It isn’t a joke. I’ll explain momentarily,” he answered casually. Then he clicked his fingers, and we disappeared. We appeared on a giant toadstool. It must’ve been magic.

“Now, I hope you know that it’s St. Patrick’s Day,” he said.

“Yeah, so what?” I asked.

“Well, I’m Patrick. I’m a leprechaun,” he told me.

“Are you my brother?” I screamed. I didn’t think my own brother would sink so low.

“No, what gave you that idea?” he said, startled. “Anyway, St. Patrick’s Day is a holiday to respect all Irish people, especially Irish leprechauns.”

So that was the problem, I thought.

“If you were Irish, I’d respect you and leave you be,” Patrick told me.

“But I AM Irish!” I shouted.

“Then where’s your red hair? Irish people have red hair like me, you liar!” he declared.

“That’s a stereotype!” I yelled.

“No, it’s true, you lying American! You won’t be forgiven for this!”

“Now wait just a darn minute!” I screamed desperately.

“Okay, fine,” Patrick agreed.

“Is there anything I can do to prove I’m Irish?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. “Dance.”

I was confused.

“Dance?” I repeated.

“Yes! Just dance, already!” he said, annoyed.

So I danced the best I could without music.

“No, no, no!” Patrick shook his head. “You have to do an Irish jig! What were you thinking?”

“But I don’t know an Irish jig!” I cried.

“Fine, then,” he said and put a pipe in his mouth. “You have to find a shamrock in this field.” He chuckled.

What could have been so funny? I thought. The field was filled with shamrocks.

“But you’ll never be able to leave this toadstool, unless I cast a magic spell! And you’ll never leave this place unless I say, ‘Be gone, hooligan, by the powers of evanescence!'” He clamped his hand to his mouth.

I began to slowly fade away. Then I appeared back at the mall between my two friends. It was my lucky day.