To the Irish, music and dance has been as much a part of life as breathing, long before Michael Flatley became “Lord of the Dance.”

Friends and families gather shoulder to shoulder in tiny cottages and pubs in Ireland for the craic (krak), meaning fun in Irish.

Growing up in my home was no different, although my family had been immigrants, so we have fun, or joke that we craic up, in America.

My father’s family was from Ireland and England, immigrating to Universal, Ind. in Vermillion County during the early 1900s. European families came to work the coal mines, so with little money and few cars, they were somewhat isolated in the tiny town of miners. Their varied European nationalities provided a sense of sameness in a vast new country. Naturally, they held on to their cultures.

My father, Charles Higgins, played fiddle at a dance hall in Universal during the 1930s, called “Half and Half,” where he met my mother, Dorothy.

Joe Soltis of Universal once said, “When your father played music, the windows rattled.”

After World War II, my father felt fortunate to find a job at Delco Remy in Anderson, where I was born.

Our craic, or fun, was music.

We often had a full house of musicians, called music sessions, or we would play at the home of another Irish family, the O’Briens, in Fairmount.

When the Irish say a music session will end early, they mean early sunrise the following morning. Musicians form strong bonds, so time stands still. They stop for food and tall tales, then it’s back to playing jigs, reels, slip jigs, and hornpipes from over 1,000 traditional dance tunes.

Someone always dances.

Another sings Sean-Nós (shan-noh-s), meaning old style. Sean-Nós songs are generally solo without musical accompaniment, telling stories of relationships, often comedic, or lamenting historical events.

One tells the tale of a man who thought he’d married a 19-year-old. By the end, his bride pulls off her wig, takes out her false teeth and an eye, revealing she’s…90 years old.

Every Irish child learns to play an instrument. At age four, I was given my first accordion and squeaked through adolescence like Steve Urkel in the television sitcom, Family Matters. Only I didn’t wear glasses or suspenders, and Steve Urkel didn’t play Irish reels.

My father played fiddle, tin whistle, banjo, and accordion, all among the instruments at traditional Irish music sessions. I would have preferred any one of the other three. After years of listening to me practice, my parents probably would have preferred they’d given me knitting needles to make Irish sweaters.