Back when I was 6 or 7, my parents had a Christmas party in our home for all of their friends. Throwing a party was not unusual in itself; in this circle, parties occured about every two months. But this party was different in that their friends were suppossed to come dressed as their nationality. My parents good friends, Pam & Bill MacMillan, had called everyone on the list shortly after my mom called them and told them that everone comeing over to our house was going to be Scottish: Kilts, Prince Charlies, the whole kit and kaboodle. So, instead of ten couples coming as different nationalities, they all came as Scots.

Seeing all of those kilts at one time did leave an impression: Even in a Tuxedo, my Father never looked as suave or at ease as the gents did that night. While my Dad would walk about stiffly in a suit going to work, everyone of Scottish heritage (and used to wearing the Kilt) that night walked about with a sense of style and comfort that my Dad never had. But my Dad had told me that a kilt was a type of dress and at that age, unmanly wasn't going to happen.

Fast forward a few decades and at the ripe old age of 51 I said to myself to heck with Dad (he'd been wrong about a few things in life) and bought my first SportKilt. Not knowing how a kilt was suppossed to fit, that in itself was an experience. That was last August. it took abit, but I did buy a stillwater Heavyweight which fit like it was made for me. While I look back and wonder why I took so long to do this, I am having a grand time and enjoying being kilted.