Irish Idiot

My stupid computer won't let me upload a picture tonight. I hate technology. On a lighter note, St. Patrick's Day is rapidly approaching. I thought I would spend my night telling you how much I loved this holiday growing up. I don't know why I always bore people with stories of my childhood, but it makes me happy to relive them.
I'm not really Irish, but my parents always made St. Patrick's Day a big deal. I thought leprechauns were real until I was about 12. Yes, I'm that stupid. My parents encouraged it though.
Everything would be turned green on St. Patrick's Day. My parents would make green ice, turn the ice green, and even put green food coloring in the faucet so the water would be green the first few times you would turn it on. We also shit green for a few days after, but it was well worth it.
Every year, my parents would hide candy around the house on St. Patrick's Day. They told us the leprechauns did it. The candy was some nasty spearmint gummy crap, but I loved it when I was younger. I would spend hours searching the house for these nasty candies.
My parents also told us that if you could find a leprechaun, they would grant you three wishes. If you blinked once you saw one, it would disappear. I have vivid memories of walking around on St. Patrick's Day literally holding my eyes open so I wouldn't be forced to blink. It's no wonder my eye sight is as great as it is today.
We had two leprechauns who visited our house every year. Mickey and Sean. There were others that came on and off, but those were the two constants that I remember my parents talking about. We would write notes to them, and my parents would write back...in very small writing.
As I got older and realized just how incredibly stupid I was for wasting my time all those years. My mom found it hard to let go of the St. Patrick's Day traditions. It would be kind of embarrassing to open my bookbag in high school on St. Patrick's Day and have some candy fall out, or a note from Mickey. I of course had to explain to my friends, who just didn't understand why I was holding a note from an imaginary leprechaun.
I may have been dumb, but my parents were geniuses. For one day a year, they were able to occupy 8 kids by having them look for little green men and write notes to them.
To this day, I don't really talk about St. Patrick's Day with my parents. Of course I know my parents were behind all the green festivities, but I don't really want to talk about how they went through all the trouble of hiding candy while we were sleeping or trying to find all the notes we left all over the house so they could respond to them. Part of me likes to believe in the leprechauns still. Should I go to counseling for this?