Grandma Cooper had more knowledge and more wisdom than anyone I have ever known, and she was always willing to share it with anyone who would listen. Now, I cannot rightly say how she came about all that wisdom other than through life itself. Years of raising a family, weathering hard seasons, celebrating joyful ones, and quietly observing the world around her seemed to form a kind of education far richer than anything printed on paper.
As I have grown older — not nearly as old as Nancy, my dear sister though — I have come to realize that some of what Grandma Cooper taught us was truth, gently polished and occasionally embellished just enough to make it more interesting for those who listened. She loved to tell a yarn or two. And when she did, she would carefully watch our faces, waiting for that spark of curiosity or disbelief she so enjoyed stirring.
Knowing this, you can imagine the surprise — or perhaps doubt is the better word — when one afternoon she asked my baby sister Chere a most peculiar question.
“What color are we to wear on St. Patrick’s Day?”
“Green,” Chere quickly answered, confident as could be.
Grandma Cooper paused. She always did know the value of a well-timed silence. With a soft smile beginning to form, she asked, “What if I were to tell you that in the beginning, the color was blue?”
Chere and I looked at each other. Then back at Grandma Cooper, who now had that familiar twinkle in her eye.
“No way,” I said. “It has always been green. Everyone knows that. Otherwise, you get pinched on St. Patrick’s Day.”
Grandma Cooper said nothing. The kitchen clock ticked steadily on the wall. Tick… tick… tick. Chere and I shifted our glances from one another back to Grandma Cooper, waiting for the verdict.
Finally, she broke the silence.
“Well,” she said gently, “I can’t have you spouting nonsense.”
She went on to explain that St. Patrick’s Day is known for parades, shamrocks, and a whole lot of green. It is a day when people all around the world embrace Irish culture — whether they have Irish heritage or not. Yet, she told us, many would be surprised to learn that St. Patrick himself was not even Irish.
Long before the celebration became filled with traditional food, lively music, and the raising of pints of Guinness, March 17 was observed quietly and solemnly in Ireland. It was a religious feast day meant to honor St. Patrick’s role in bringing Christianity to the island. People marked the occasion with prayer, church services, and thoughtful reflection.
“And as for the color,” Grandma Cooper added, “I do not recall exactly when it changed. But blue was once closely associated with St. Patrick.”
She leaned back slightly, folding her hands in her lap.
“As you will learn over time,” she continued, “folks like to change things. Sometimes just because they want to. Not always for a particular reason.”
Now this lesson was not for naught. Grandma Cooper never handed us answers wrapped in a bow. Instead, she left breadcrumbs — just enough to spark a search for truth.
When the old encyclopedias at home fell short, she would take us by the hand and lead us to the public library. There, among the quiet aisles and towering shelves, we learned that knowledge was something to be pursued, questioned, and cherished.
Looking back now, I am quite certain Grandma Cooper possessed more knowledge and wisdom than those worn encyclopedias ever could. She did not simply teach us facts. She taught us how to wonder… and how to look a little deeper when something seemed certain.
And perhaps most importantly, she taught us that truth often reveals itself to those willing to seek it.
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