The unsung glories of false imprisonment
“Maybe the leprechaun will come to our house,” said my daughter.
“Listen, I might have a complicated relationship with him, but I don’t want you calling my dad a leprechaun”, I responded. “Yeah, sure, he is short, but we don’t call anyone names. And we definitely don’t shame them for their bodies’ attributes. And, if anything, my dad is more of a gnome than a leprechaun.”
“No, Dad, the Saint Patty’s leprechaun.”
“Ah… okay… I get it now. But no, baby. He won’t come either because we didn’t invite him.”
When I was seven, my parents thought it was appropriate for me to watch Predator and Twin Peaks. So for years, my brain would play one of these very-real-to-me scenarios:
- A vortex under my bed that was going to take me to a different dimension,
- An old man behind the bathroom door waiting to kill me once I was done with my shower,
- A thief climbing through my window as I was trying to fall asleep,
- and the devil taking me away to hell in the middle of the night.
Now, I am protective of what my daughters get exposed to because I want to save them years of unnecessary night terrors, especially because they both have very active imaginations, just like I did when I was a kid.
I am still dealing with my youngest, thinking there is a pack of wolves hidden in her room waiting to come out when I close the door at bedtime.
She saw a short “family-friendly” Christmas movie in which the main character is chased by a pack of wolves in one scene.
That was close to two years ago.
I dealt with it last night, and I will be dealing with it tonight.
So, I’m very vigilant about what they’re exposed to, and that includes opting out of certain holiday traditions.
It always throws me for a loop when they request to be part of something I would have found totally terrifying as a kid, like trapping the leprechaun.
My wife tells me that I only think it’s terrifying because I take things too far; that I’m too literal; that I make things into what they are not.
I, of course, disagree.
So let me show you why I am right, and my wife isn’t.
What hides under the seemingly harmless and hospitable, “Inviting the Leprechaun home”?
Let’s break it down.
A small, red-haired man. (This situation is already a nonstarter. But let’s keep going.)
The ginger decides to dress in a color green no suit should ever exist in: emerald green. (Okay. Super scary! That should be all, but what’s next?)
This little person breaks into your house, and for weeks, we tell our kids it is their responsibility to build a trap to capture him.
Why? Well, so he can lead them to the pot of gold.
(Okay, Problematic. We are teaching our kids that imprisoning others from different cultures with different accents is the way to the gold. That’s how we ended up with sweatshops. We are also teaching kids that if we build a mouse trap clever enough, we can imprison others to satisfy our desires — Epstein’s files, anyone?)
Why can’t we keep this tradition cute like another cute tradition where the creep breaks into your house to leave candy and toys?
Let’s keep doing that and hope that one day our kids will understand that someone breaking into your house to leave candy is okay, but that they shouldn’t jump into a white van for it.
Why do we obsess with magical creatures breaking and entering the sanctity of our house?
Why isn’t enough anymore that you get to eat rich and salty foods?
St. Patrick’s Day is one of my favorite annual traditions because I get to eat corned beef brined in extra salt, cabbage, and a stout beer. I don’t eat like that any other day of the year, so for exactly 364 days, I appreciate what it feels like to feel bloated to the point you might risk flying back to the Emerald Isle if you let out a fart.
Why isn’t it enough anymore that you can also celebrate by going to your closest Irish pub and drinking Jameson or Guinness until you are speaking gibberish that sounds like Gaelic?
If you are young, you can even do Irish car bombs. I’m not trying to be ageist. All I’m saying is that if you are not young and you do Irish car bombs, you might as well be in an Irish car bomb.
Why isn’t enough anymore that we get to wear green?
That’s right.
This day is a great day to wear green and celebrate the Irish. The Irish will have you believe it is because Ireland is green. The truth is that green looks very good with red, and there is plenty a ginger among the Irish.
Now, how they got us to wear green feels a bit violent.
They have pinched an entire nation into wearing green.
Supposedly, wearing green makes you invisible to the leprechaun. If you don’t wear green, the leprechaun will pinch you, but apparently, friends and family get ahead of it.
If you are wearing green and someone pinches you, you are allowed to pinch them back, but why would you? Go ahead and punch them right on the nose. The leprechaun would. It is also very Irish.
The truth is, we don’t live in that world anymore, or at least we shouldn’t live in that world anymore. We know better.
Instead of pinching someone for not wearing green, use your words to explain that they are not being an Irish ally.
If parents and kids are so concerned about the leprechaun’s whereabouts, all they would really have to do is call ICE. You can tell a little ginger, wearing a full green suit and hat, with a Guinness problem, means he has no papers.
ICE will do its best to find the leprechaun and incarcerate it with the hundreds of little people (children) they have already incarcerated already.
Because, let’s be real, a green card and a green suit are not the same thing. If Grandma and Grandpa leprechaun had cared enough about the leprechaun freely roaming around the US and stealing good Americans’ jobs like farm hand, concrete, and breaking into people’s house, they would’ve come in a boat, so their kid would’ve been born on US soil and enjoy the protection of the 14th Amendment for the time that this Amendment has left.
Maybe my wife is right. Maybe I make things into what they are not.
It sounds like next year, I will be jumping on the bandwagon with my daughters to capture the leprechaun — The Irish one, not my dad. I was never able to build a trap clever enough to make him stay.
