Tiny Green Footprints
Story by: Lydia Dodson
As February comes to a close and March is right around the corner, I can’t help but get excited for
one of my most favorite holidays. St. Patrick’s Day has been on the top of my list of celebrations for as long
as I can remember. For me St. Patrick’s Day does not mean simply donning green and toasting the Irish
(although I have enjoyed taking part in that tradition once or twice over the years). Instead, I associate St.
Patrick’s Day with imagination and anticipation. And I have my mom to thank for that.
Every year when I was a child, St. Patrick’s Day meant I got to see magic in action. St. Patrick’s Day
meant, of course, that the Leprechauns were coming. The Leprechauns don’t just leave presents under the
tree and eat a few cookies on a plate like a familiar jolly man in red. Nor do they simply drop off a basket
of chocolate like an oversized rabbit. The Leprechauns are obviously much too devious and feisty for that.
When the Leprechauns come they wreak havoc. They terrorize the house and leave obvious emerald remnants in their wake. I was more excited to come home from school to find these evidences than I ever was
waking up Christmas morning.
After school I would rush home in search of the Leprechauns. Green is of course their signature color,
so naturally they would steal all of my green toys and hide them throughout the house. I would find collections of Legos, Barbie clothes, and doll furniture in corners of the kitchen or behind the sofa. Leprechauns
also obviously love the water, so they would take a dip in every toilet. You could tell they had been there
because the water would turn green after their swims. I knew right away where the Leprechauns had been
because they would leave a trail of tiny green footprints behind them. I would giddily race around to every
part of the house looking for these clues and following the green footprints with the kind of elation only a
child can have. They even liked to play in the refrigerator, turning the milk and juice green. Usually it would
come to a close upon finding their note, a sloppily scribbled scoff that I didn’t find their beloved treasure, and
I always knew that they wherever they went they were sticking their tongues out at me. One year they even
visited my Kindergarten classroom (guess who my teacher was) and stole all of our dollhouse furniture so
they could have a feast in the playground, leaving behind those legendary tiny green footprints. We took our
“leprechaun magnifying glasses” (green Saran Wrap stretched over Popsicle sticks) and went on a mission
to rescue the furniture for our dolls.
Of course as I got older the Leprechauns stopped coming, because they had other small children to
terrorize. And eventually I figured out who aided the Leprechauns in their mischievousness. One detail I had
to know about was those footprints. They weren’t shoes, they weren’t a stamp. How did she do it? For years
my mother refused to tell me. And then one year she revealed her secret in two words: naughty Barbies.
As another St. Patrick’s Day approaches I know the Leprechauns won’t be visiting my house. I know
I will just wear green and maybe go out and enjoy an apple martini. But I can’t help but think about future
St. Patrick’s Days when I will hopefully have small feet running home from school to check the toilets and
search for their green toys. I only hope I c