By Lori Welch Brown
I always assumed that the luck of the Irish was based on leprechauns and lore so I was surprised to find out that it is actually somewhat of a derisive term coined during the American Gold Rush. Apparently, during the last half of the 19th century, a number of the most successful miners were of Irish/Irish American birth so the expression discredited them for using brains or resourcefulness, and insinuated that it was mere luck that brought them gold.
So, it got me to thinking—what is luck and who is lucky? Most of my luck happened when I came into the world. Lucky is the person born with ten fingers and ten toes into a loving, safe, and secure home. Lucky is the person who gets a proper education. Lucky is the person who has ample food and warmth. Lucky is the person who has a stable, secure home life.
I was blessed with a heaping, piling over pot of luck.
I was lucky to have been born into a loving home—albeit as a follow up act to three brothers who excelled at teasing and torturing me with their jokes at my expense. I was lucky to have access to great teachers and decent schools that I was reluctant to attend mostly because of their deplorable gym programs. I was lucky to have plenty of food—the good, processed kind that happened before parents knew anything about food pyramids and organic—we got to pick out our own TV dinners on special nights and raced each other to the breakfast table to eat the last Hostess doughnut or fight over the prize in the box of Lucky Charms. I was lucky enough not to have gotten thrown through the windshield of our Pontiac because back then seat belts were optional. And, I was lucky not to have burned off my bangs lighting my mom’s cigarettes. Although it probably had more to do with the fact that she trimmed them so short they were out of flame’s range vs. luck.
Some people are just born lucky and that was me.
After that long run of luck, however, I had to rely on skills, work, and effort. I imagine it’s that way for most people. Luck may get you through childhood, but adulthood is a whole other ball game. Luck doesn’t wake you up in the morning. Luck doesn’t make your bed or pay your rent. I guess it could if you were lucky enough to be able to play basketball like Michael Jordan, but even then, I’m pretty sure he worked pretty darn hard to become the GOAT.
I guess there are some people whose luck doesn’t run out. Or maybe their ‘luck’ comes later in life, but I think the rest of us are out there fighting the good fight, doing what we can to make a decent living and carve our way in the world. As they say, adulting is highly overrated because that is when most of us can no longer rely on our chubby little cheeks and toothy grins to land us what we want in life. Heck—I can’t even rely on a good kicking and screaming fit to get my husband XXL to clean his bathroom sink. And sobbing only gets me sideways glances and grumblings about menopause that make me want to punch someone in the throat. But…I digress.
I guess if I really think about it, luck is always looming. I was lucky to land some really good paying jobs with some excellent bosses. I was lucky to score killer seats to see Elton John. I was lucky to make friends with some super cool people who seem to like me. I was lucky not to get long-haul COVID. I was lucky the cardiologist found out what was wrong with my heart before it was too late. Dang—that was really lucky come to think of it.
At this stage of the game, if my feet hit the floor in the morning, I am lucky. But the way the rest of the day rolls is in my court. I’m the one who has to lace up my shoes, turn on my computer, and make life happen. And maybe, just maybe, I might get so lucky that I win more than I spend on scratch offs—which would be a personal best for me. So, yes…that would be lucky.
Luck is a fickle mistress. Can she be counted on to score you a million dollar pay off? No. Can she ensure you meet the love of your life tomorrow? Probably not. Can you bank on your team winning the Super Bowl? I wouldn’t bet the mortgage on it. But from where I’m sitting, she’s come through in ways I never imagined and in all the ways that truly count.
Maybe those Irish miners had an inside track, but more likely it was their grit and skills that led them to their pots of gold. Whatever the case, may the luck of the Irish be with you.
About the Author: Lori is a local writer, painter and pet lover who loves to share her experiences and expertise with our readers. She has been penning a column for the OTC for over 25 years. Please follow Lori online on Medium for more missives like this.