As a mid-baby boomer, I went to public school in a Chicago suburb that the real-estate agents had decided would be open to Jewish families. (We were always impressed with Kenilworth, which was so fancy it was "restricted" to White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. No Catholics or Jews.
Most of my classmates were Jewish. Nearly all the teachers were not. The music teacher, Miss Otteson, who was Scandinavian, loved St. Patrick's Day. Every year, we'd learn a bunch of Irish songs and belt them out.
I still remember that Molly Malone was first on the song sheet, and MacNamara's Band was second. I think When Irish Eyes Were Smiling was on there. I can't remember the others. Molly Malone was probably our favorite, but we loved them all.
Chicago's mayor, the original Richard Daley, dyed the Chicago River green every year, and the city had a big parade. Everybody was an honorary Irish-American. We liked it.
Of course, I liked singing all those Christmas songs too. We didn't expect "representation." We wanted to be included in the larger culture. Also, I like to sing.
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