I've been there. It was 1982, and, if you can believe it, we went there for a trip while the Olympics were in Los Angeles, so we wouldn't have to deal with the world's traffic. (Given the chance now, I would totally stay put and check out the events. But alas, at nine years old, I was not consulted too terribly much on these things.) Mom, Howie, Gramps and I spent some time driving around Ireland, and then spent a few days in London. The trip is still among my favorites of all time.
Biggest regret: not toughening up and being brave enough to flip backwards over a large hole in the floor high above the castle grounds and kissing the Blarney Stone itself. I knew at that moment that I should totally do it. I knew, as we walked away, that I should totally do it and be a tough kid because my chance was slipping away.
If I could kick that girl in the butt right now and tell her to frickin' do it, I would. I'm still quite disappointed in my nine-year-old self. I don't have very many stories about me chickening out on something, and I hate that this is one of them. Oh, if I knew then what I know now. And if I could stop that girl. Blast it. Regret.
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