When I was three years old, I was asked in Sunday School at the Presbyterian Church our family attended what I wanted to be when I grew up. "The King of Scotland!" I immediately responded, and with great enthusiasm, as my mother tells the story.

The first book I remember reading from the library was "Wee Angus", a tale about a boy in Scotland whose mother's family were Lowlanders and the father's family were Highlanders. I practically begged my parents for a kilt, but had to settle for a wee pair of Royal Stuart (gasp!) trews for the first years of my wife.

Our High School (all five high schools, really) in Springfield had an all-girls drum & bugle corps that wore Scottish "kit", including men's kilts -- I unsuccessfully lobbied the school to allow boys to join, since the girls were wearing men's garments, and I was of Scottish heritage, but the advisor did let me borrow one of the extra kilts (Gordon) during my senior year, and I was hooked!

I guess I have always been fascinated with kilts, and all things Scottish, since our family is overwhelmingly Scottish in heritage, and my grandmother (may light perpetual shine upon her) was always telling me stories of when my great-great-grandparents immigrated and so on.

It is in the blood for me, and to paraphrase the Canadian boat song, "the blood is strong, and the heart is highland..."

Yours Aye,

T.