St. Patrick’s Day is next Monday, and you know what that means: Green stuff and lots of it. Come March 17, green will be found not only in storefronts, but in cash registers, food, drink and clothing. In today’s litigious society, one probably would not escape so easily with pinching a coworker for the absence of green in that day’s wardrobe, though it could feasibly be blamed on the water-cooler leprechaun, who is also responsible for printer misfeeds, toner shortages and, reportedly, steep-slope development. St. Patrick’s Day is the national holiday of Ireland, though Irish sources say it is celebrated at much greater lengths in the United States. Here’s how your Mountain Times staff celebrates this particular holiday:

Melanie Davis: Just an excuse to drink

I can’t help but note what is a religious holiday in Ireland has become a celebration centered on alcohol in America. I am sure there are people who stay away from green-tinted beer and Irish whiskey, but there are those who celebrate the occasion simply for the excuse to indulge.

Melanie encourages you to celebrate Irish traditions; just don’t be this guy.

I once worked as a bartender for a very brief period, which happened to include St. Patrick’s Day. Out of curiosity, I asked several customers who were drinking Guinness and Smithwicks why the day is celebrated. I knew it was a feast day for the patron saint of Ireland, but was surprised by the number who did not know the “reason for the season,” to use another phrase from a religious holiday.

It is one thing to celebrate Irish history or tradition. It’s a completely different thing to dance on a bar while wearing an “Irish I were drunk” T-shirt and a green wig.

I admit to being guilty of celebrating the green holiday without fully knowing the true meaning of St. Patrick’s Day. I never really thought about it, a little like Valentine’s Day in my opinion. One year, I may purchase candy on Valentine’s or a Guinness on St. Patrick’s, and the next year not celebrate either.

Then I met a group of people visiting the U.S. from Dublin. Their visit was nowhere near St. Patrick’s Day, but we somehow managed to get on the topic over the course of our week-long friendship. The use of alcohol as the center of the American celebration seemed, according to them, to perpetuate the stereotype of Irish drinking.

Although, I would like to say members of this group were college students who seemed oblivious to the fact that they also perpetuated the stereotype. Their other pet peeve was Americans they met who said, “I’m Irish, too!” but meant by hundreds of years ago in genealogy.

A point of interest: the celebration day is being moved by church bishops in Ireland this year to avoid conflict with Holy Week (Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday). So, if you really want to celebrate with the Irish, celebrate on March 15.

Scott Nicholson: Molly the Waitress

The wearin’ o’ the green is not a major deal to me, since I am of Scottish descent (mingled with strains of practically everything that can breed), so I am not one to observe St. Patrick’s Day and I’m not even sure who St. Patrick is, unless he’s the dude who drove all the snakes out of Ireland so they turned up in Hollywood.

Molly the Waitress. Perhaps.

Then again, I don’t wear plaid either, and I never wear a manskirt, at least in public, and in private, my mandress is none of your business. I vaguely remember in college going to the local Irish-themed pub and indulging in pints of green ale served in thick glasses, and the waitress named Molly cleverly tried to short me on my change, except my friend, Doug, caught her and so I got all my change back and proceeded to buy him a few rounds in gratitude until the change was gone. So the lesson there is beware of anyone named Molly. Or Doug. Or Scott.

On a more sober note, the celebration of any culture is a cause for celebration, and often we focus so much on celebrating diversity and unity that we forget simple tribalism. We are different, we are the same, people are people, and if you wear a T-shirt that says “Kiss Me, I’m Irish,” then you’ll probably have an interesting day. You might want to wear such a shirt even if you’re not Irish. When it comes right down to it, I’d rather kiss the Irish than a Blarney stone. Even someone named Molly.

Jeff Eason: Horror of the Paper Bowtie

Six-year-old Jeff says, “I’d rather be a bike-riding cowboy than a leprechaun with a green bowtie.”

I’ve never been a big fan of St. Patrick’s Day. Bagpipes and penny whistles are two of the more loathsome musical instruments ever invented and it took a particularly sadistic Irishman to decide that they needed to be paired up to create the Celtic music sound. I don’t care for green beer either, and if corned beef and cabbage is Ireland’s contribution to world cuisine, I’ll opt for take-out from Mexico or Thailand every single time. Irish whiskey is decent, but I prefer the blended bourbons of Kentucky, Tennessee and Virginia.

I suppose my indifference to St. Patrick’s Day (despite my British Isles heritage) goes back to my childhood. It was on an unusually cold March 17th when I was in first grade at Gallup Hill Elementary School in Connecticut. Nothing struck me as unusual on the way to school but when everyone began to take off their coats and put them on hooks in the hallway, I realized, to my six-year-old horror, that I was the only kid in my class not wearing green! Let the taunting and pinching begin! My teacher, the lovely and well-meaning Miss Novak, tried to stem the tide of small yet painful pinches by making a green bowtie out of colored construction paper and pinning it to my shirt. Folks, there’s nothing quite like a green bowtie to make a red face look even redder. I imagine that I must have looked like a leprechaun who was fighting back tears. This traumatic event has spoiled St. Patrick’s Day and bowties for me ever since. Sigh.

Jason Reagan: I yam what I yam

As someone of Irish heritage, you would think that my St. Patrick’s Day would be full of emerald brew and more blarney than you can shake a shamrock at.

A man of many cultures, Jason brazenly wears lederhosen on St. Patrick’s Day.

But, no, even though I often wish my ancestors had not dropped the “O” in O’Reagan when they came here, I don’t think about my Irish heritage much more on Paddy’s Day than any other.

Dividing my essential self into bite-size ethnic morsels has never made sense to me. While it is helpful to understand where you come from and how your family evolved, identifying myself with the past just doesn’t work for me (and, yes, I realize I may be tempting the ire of thousands of kilt-clad Scots come July).

I think those who find fascination with their roots are generally interesting people, and I’m glad it enriches their lives and our community. However, I suppose I’m too diverse to focus on one tradition. On my father’s side, Irish, Cherokee, Scottish blood flows freely, and while my mother’s family also contributed German, English and probably a few more samples of European stock. Where should I start celebrating? Should I don some lederhosen and tip my hat to the Union Jack, while demanding my share of casino profits from Cherokee?

My long-term prediction is that commemorations like St. Patrick’s Day will someday flow down the calendar drain of our national consciousness. America is becoming more ethically diverse, not less, so I don’t see any trends surviving that would tend to differentiate one ethnicity from another.

One aspect of my Irish heritage I do celebrate is our adaptability. Unlike the British, French and Spanish, the Irish didn’t have to fight any wars or overcome many obstacles in order to fill their niche in the American tapestry. We were smart enough to wait until the dust settled in Colonial America before venturing forth. We came, we looked around, we said “’at’ll do,” and we’ve been generally content ever since.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day.