Every year around now, I celebrate my Irish-ness. Good 'ol St. Patrick's Day comes with corned beef & cabbage, Guinness or Harp, Jamison or Bushmills (depending on your faith), The Dubliners or Flogging Mollys , and of course, a little bit of green. While I can celebrate with any Irish feck, the question remains on how Irish I really am.

My mother's side of the family does a lot of genealogy which goes against much of my 'never look back' lifestyle. They can tell you about French, German, English & Irish ancestors, but to me, it seems like they all came from Gaul, and we should leave it at that.

Strangely enough, it's when I'm acting as characters from different nationalities that I discover how much heritage might actually be in me. I've been English, Irish, German & Australian, and all of them seem to make sense to me. As Canon Arthur Stanley, I played a snooty upper class British academic. It was my most gay role ever, but I always thought the British were a little gay. The Australian was Captain Sam from a freight barge, and he bossed everyone around and took no guff from those swine. My German character was Dr. Frankenstein, based on the Nazi Josef Mengele (from the death camps), so my maniacal fascist ways came out surprisingly easy. My Irish lad was Joey who was a bit sensitive about braining cats, but still got his head blown off for the nationalist cause.

So where am I from? Whose allegiance do I pledge? That's simple. I'm an American, through and through.

No matter which side of the family genealogy tree I look at, most of them crossed the pond around the turn of the 19th Century. That's 200-plus years of American heritage. One side came through The South, the other through the Mid West. I live in the Southwest desert, so I'm not really embracing even my nearest roots.

Some people think heritage makes them privileged. Geraldine Ferraro said Barack Obama is lucky to be a black man in white America. My question is 'What was he supposed to be other than what he is?' I look at the local DWI pictures they publish in our paper (I'm not kidding), I feel privileged not be Hispanic. It's not that white people don't get busted, but the overwhelming percentage of faces were brown. Racial profiling? Heritage profiling?

My child-to-be will have all the background I have plus all of the background of my girlfriend. She says she has Spanish, German & old school New Mexican (not Mexican!) in her. Again, I say if we look back far enough, we're all descendants Mohammed and/or Noah. My child will be a mutt. I know this. It doesn't bother me. My favorite dogs are mutts. They take the best qualities from each breed to make a unique mixture. Of course, it doesn't always work out. I've met a few Irish Native Americans, they are both the most amazing and dangerous people I've ever come across.

So what's with the heritage? Should I embrace it? Shun it? Go with the flow?

In the end, I take the high road. If anyone asks, I say 'I have some Irish in me.' I do. I think. It's not enough to make slog around and talk far too much about soccer. It's not enough for me to be able to whip out 'Danny Boy' any time I want. But I can go to the Irish pub, eat some beef boxty, and down a pint or two. Of course, when Cinco de Mayo comes around, it will be tacos, tequila and Tecate.

Maybe we should just focus on the celebration. It doesn't matter where great-great-great-great Uncle Olaf came from or how he came to meet great-great-great-great Aunt Drezelda. Let's celebrate the Irish and the English and the Germans and the Australians and the French and the Spanish and the Italians and the Russians and the Africans and the Asians and the Middle Easterners and the Americans from pole to pole.

We're lucky to be alive at all, and I can always drink to that.

Chris Jungle celebrates all nationalities as long as he knows what's appropriate to drink.