Being an Irishwoman means many things to me. An Irishwoman is strong and feisty. She has guts and stands up for what she believes in. She believes she is the best at whatever she does and proceeds through life with that knowledge. She can face any hazard that life throws her way and stay with it until she wins. She is loyal to her kinsmen and accepting of others. She's not above a sock in the jaw if you have it coming. She is only on her knees before God. Yes, I am most definitely an Irishwoman.

We were raised in a strict house. My parents were old-fashioned by today's standards. We were shown great affection, but could also be disciplined with a strap when it was deserved. No nonsense was tolerated. Church every Sunday, since God was at the heart of our family life. Impeccable manners and proper etiquette were expected at all times. Rudeness or showing off was never appropriate. We were taught a strong work ethic. When Mammy or Daddy told me to do something, I was told with a smile, and I accepted with a smile. "Give your best day's work for a day's pay," they would say.

We kids always ate in the kitchen, and were allowed to eat in the dining room with Daddy and Mammy only on certain holidays. They ate alone every evening; this was their special time together. They both had demanding careers. Mammy began as an apprentice to a local high-fashion couturier and eventually went out on her own. She opened a showroom and had four floors of workrooms where tailors, seamstresses and millinery workers made the one-of-a-kind clothes she designed — nothing off the rack. Daddy was also in the clothing business as the manager of the Irish operations for a large British manufacturer, mostly working in fine hats.