Some of our greatest critics are often the ones closest to us. In my case the one who is the most weirded out by my wearing kilts is my son. Seventeen, big ole holes in his ears, hair cut shortish, now full into the "snow boarder" look.

Of course I'm not to say a word about the purple pants, lime green jacket, pink goggles, or tartan inspired hoodies and shorts that he wears, but wear a kilt, and I have gone over the edge. Eyes roll, head shakes, word muttered under his breath.

Well today, he had to go with me as it was phone upgrade time. After eight or ten years with the same cell phone company, they had been acquired by another, who I had a long time ago and vowed never to go back to. A friend told me about a good deal to be had at the local Sam's club, so I took cell phone bill in had and went to see. Of course he had to go. Just so I would not get him a "Lamo" phone. Ah, the joys of modern parenting, the "cell Phone", not just a tool but a status and "coolness" measure.

Since I was going to see some other folks, I decided to go kilted. It's Saturday, Valentines day, thought "red kilt". Royal Stewart, red sweater, nightstalker sporran. Yes, Weasel, my red crocks as well.

Off we went. His normal, mumbling, grump and rurump act. Complaints as we parked the car and started to walk to the Sam Club, "why did I have to wear that", "don't I know that everybody thinks I'm weird", and the prize winner " Is that Katy? OMG that's Katy (girl he has known since grade school)" and her dad (retired FFA Air traffic controller also ex marine). Milt sees me and waives and Katy beelines over, give me a big hug and the first word out of her mouth as my son turns redder than the Royal Stewart are :

That kilt is SICK! You totally Rock Mr.B!

Even more mundane Ex marine Milt, says "Looking good!"

Ah, but it gets better!

Today was sample day at Sam's. free this, free that. One lady who is sampling bagels, breaks out a big smile and says "Oh, my gosh what Clan?" and so it goes.

The guy at the cell phone kiosk, asks me if I pipe, no I don't, well he does! And hands me his card with a local website to a Celtic association, written on the back. Says they are always looking for new members.

Two ladies stop me and ask about the tartan, one even recognizes it and asks if I'm aware of the history of it. We trade some information, I tell her I am awaiting a Lindsay, only to find her father was a Lindsay as well! She Gives me a big hug, turns to my son ans says "takes a good man to wear a kilt with such pride, yeah should be proud of him"!ith:

On our way out, an older gentleman stops me and says "haven't seen one of those since I was growing up in Canada!" Turns out his father ran away from home when he was thirteen, and never went back, His name was Birse! I told him mine was Byers which was a derivation of Birse, was his father from Aberdeen shire? Turns out he was, so another kin or some sort! About that time he gets a funny look and says "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" Ja, Ich sprecht eine bisschen. Warum sie fragen mich?

Long story short, the only other guy he knew with my last name was a Captain in the Air Force, who had a son born in Germany, who would be my age. I asked him what the Caption's name was and he says he thought Ed, or maybe Ev, he was the Medical supply officer at Rhine Mien Air force base, where he had been stationed as a corpsman. I grinned and told him that was my dad. Gave him Dad's number, told him to give him a call.

On our way to the car, my son said "that was cool, dad".

Ah, the Power of the Kilt.