American born and proud to be Irish

I’M wary of nationalism. It’s silly to be overtly proud of something you didn’t choose. No-one chooses where they were born or what they look like, yet people flaunt both as if they had something to do with it. But when you leave your own nation and another accepts you, you feel proud.

I am an American, and was living in Prague, as a saxophonist, when two great men from Cork asked me to join their band. After performing together for three years, we left for Cork, a place, they said, that was good for playing music and the second biggest city in Ireland (this conjured images of a Chicago-sized city in the south of Ireland).

I came to Ireland with nothing except a saxophone and my two best friends. I had no idea my best friends would turn into so many friends, and that my saxophone would turn into so much music.