A business associate wanting to meet a deadline set for this week and knowing my full name, said, “You are not going to be on a three-day drunk, are you?”

It was probably perfectly innocent, being that my name is Sean Patrick Murphy, and I am Irish, red-faced and freckled. Since Tuesday is St. Patrick’s Day, he naturally assumed I’d being getting sloshed with the rest of my brethren.

Many Irish have an affinity with the drink, but assuming the last name Murphy means a bender on St. Patrick’s Day must be inevitable wreaks of false stereotypes. It’s veiled bigotry, and it would be met with contempt if directed toward virtually any other group.

At one time in my life I bought into the stereotype. Being Irish meant leprechauns, gaudy green garb, shamrocks and lots and lots of partying.

St. Patrick’s Day means so much more now. It’s my history.

Patrick Murphy, the first member of the Murphy clan on my grandfather’s side to emigrate to America, left Ireland in the early 1850s trying to escape the Great Hunger — also known as the potato famine.

Patrick Murphy carried with him as many possessions he could, including a shillelagh, an Irish walking stick that still hangs in my dad’s apartment.

He arrived in Boston before moving to upstate New York, then landing in Iowa. Bigotry toward the Irish was prevalent to those seeking a new life. They struggled, scrapped and finally became an indelible ingredient in the melting pot that is the United States of America.

Irish-Americans have served as presidents of this nation, have contributed to industry and have become painters, writers, film producers and directors. The impact on this land is endless.

We observe one day each year to honor St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland. We encourage others of all nationalities to revel in the celebration, but also be cognizant that every time a passing remark about the stereotypical Irishman is uttered, it sullies an entire nationality.

Use the day as an opportunity to learn more about the Irish and the impact they have had here. It’s certainly not a result of falling down drunk or wearing leprechaun lapel pins.

For years that was my view of being Irish.

Looking at the family shillelagh, and knowing that it will one day hang in my house, made me realize for all those years I was grossly mistaken.

Sean P. Murphy is Web editor of The Vicksburg Post. Write to him at Box 821668, Vicksburg, MS 39182, or e-mail smurphy@vicksburgpost.com..