So, it was Purim this past weekend, which I’d forgotten about until I saw a little girl in her pink Queen Esther dress with her parents on the subway on the way to Church on Sunday.
When I was growing up, I would take virtually any excuse to dress up. Because Purim always came more or less around the same time as St. Patrick’s day, I sort of conflated the two, which lead to St. Patrick’s day being a dress-up holiday for me.
My second-favorite dress-up costume was my mother’s old Indian dancing skirt: embroidered with metallic thread and mirrored beads, it was wonderfully full and heavy, and when I spun around it would billow out so much that it was almost flat. More to the point, it was green.
I went through a heavy Irishness phase, round about age 9, induced by watching Finian’s Rainbow, and even though my mother didn’t have any actual Irish-Irish ancestors, she did have a bunch of Scots-Irish. Close enough.
I can remember, therefore, circa 1985, going out for corned beef and cabbage, dressed as Queen Esther in a green Indian dancing skirt.