When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Every year on St. Patrick’s Day, my Grandpa would grin and remind my sisters and me that it was his birthday. It wasn’t, technically—but he loved being Irish so much that the truth hardly mattered. We never questioned it, and loved the way his eyes twinkled when he sang When Irish Eyes Are Smiling. Even now, when I hear that song, I can picture him: crooning, proud, full of warmth. It makes me smile, but there’s always a lump in my throat. Some people leave footprints; Grandpa left a melody.