The Generosity of the Irish Spirit.

It was only in conversation with three cruise companions this week, that a common held world conception, rang true to me for the first time in some while. Our companions were from Scotland and Canada and confirmed to both of us why the Irish abroad are held in such high esteem.

Is it the Irish lilt or the trusting face? Is it the glint in the eye when we talk or our ability to listen to the saddest of tales? Is it because our presence stretches to all corners of the globe? Is it the ability to sell an idea and make it seem that it was always a great idea? Is it our self-deprecation and begrudgery all rolled into one? Or is it our kind and generous nature whatever our backs are against a wall and the pressure is on?

Or is it a combination of all of the above plus thousands of more attributes?

 I’d like to think so. Of course, there are the exceptions to every rule. Cute-hoorism is almost directly linked to a sense of Irishness. Look at many of our past and present politicians as an example of a cute hoor. I shouldn’t brand them all as one and the same, as there are plenty in all walks of life.

Bob Geldof was the first Irishman in my early life, who was recognized on the world stage – I was only nine years old when he organized and mobilized the entire world music community, to raise money for starving children in Africa.

It’s not the major things though, that stand out for me. It’s holding a door open for others you don’t know or being courteous to those of an older generation. I hope that this still occurs when I am part of that age. Saying “bless you” when someone sneezes is another.

We are all taught at a young age the importance of our heritage and our innate culture. It leads to good manners as we all get older, wherever we end up on this planet.

That is Irishness.

Being kind when you don’t have to be. That’s what distinguishes us. Being kind with your time when people least expect it.

So this week, I fully saw first-hand what manners mean. We encountered approximately ten nationalities. The vast majority of them have no manners. I mean none - whatsoever!

With the exception of the handful of Americans, Canadians, Scottish, English, Polish and Irish people (which numbered about 200 of almost 4,000 guests) – we were staggered at the ignorance. Every night, sitting down to dinner we shared our tales of woe and mind-splitting madness that we had endured that day.

Having laughed, shaken our heads and tried to forget about it – we couldn’t. It was time for Plan B. Not the singer obviously, but to do what they did to us. In other words – if you can’t beat them, join them.

It’s not in my nature to be rude. I can’t help it, as it’s just not in me. But at times, I have a nasty side when I know I’ve been wronged. So, early the next morning in the mad, crazy rush for the buffet breakfast – we steeled ourselves and ploughed through the Italians. I didn’t stop to apologize for bumping into anyone – they never did for me, so why should I?

It soon became natural to me after one day. I stood on some young lad’s toe by accident and walked on. He was about to walk through me, thinking I was going to stop for him – but I didn’t. My rudeness was mainly held for the vast majority of the passengers who were of Italian descent.

Of course though, if someone was kind no matter what their nationality, I was kind back in reply.

I’m not a complete bastard - yet.