Why I Like Men in Kilts

You know why.

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It’s the varied plaids.

Over twenty years ago, I spent a year teaching in Scotland thanks to a Fulbright Teaching Award. I loved the lilt of the Scottish accents. There were many moments I knew Scotland’s history better than my own. I was a bit of a talking guidebook when I went places with my friends. Living in a land of castles was a dream come true. I drank whiskey. Its burn was warm and its taste long-lasting. I loved the music, the sheep, the people I met, and the experiences I had. I taught third graders. It was why I was there, but it did interfere somewhat with all my other plans. A few students still flit through my mind from time to time. All my memories remind me of this special year in my life.

Oddly enough, last week I reconnected with a kindred spirit who lived in Edinburgh the same time I did and who just happened to stumble across my blog. I already had drafted most of this post. The way life continues to weave people, events, and experiences together amazes me. Forces beyond our ken weave these things together like personalized patterns in plaids for each of us. Some threads naturally go together and overlap more than once. All the threads are important.

I really do like the plaids. The colors do more than just complement one another in a pretty design. Historically, the British government forbade the wearing of the family tartan in the Highlands after the Battle of Culloden in 1746. It was an attempt to suppress the culture and to take away an important part of Scottish identity.

You probably see where this going. Cancer works hard to take away important parts of someone’s identity. There’s hair loss. Surgery. Lots of other subtle and not so subtle changes happen with activities, a person’s social life, and perhaps employment. You look in the mirror and see someone you don’t know anymore. Photographs from a time when you felt you looked like you haunt you because you don’t know if that person is coming back or even exists anymore. Perceptions change (perceived by others or yourself) of what you are capable of accomplishing. Some people even have the nerve to tell you how you feel or what you think. Uncertainty looms.

Not so fast, cancer. Kilts have powers. Envisioning a man in a kilt transports me back to a place where I can hear the bagpipe music running through my veins and feel the heartbeat of a strong Celtic drum. I don’t have any Scottish ancestry, but I believe what I’m trying to describe transcends a person’s roots. It is still identity based, but an identity that is more at your core that can’t be stripped away by cancer no matter how hard it tries. The tartans worn by the Highlanders couldn’t be wiped out. Identities were strengthened rather than weakened. My identity will prevail strengthened rather than weakened, too. It already has. I know who I am.

There are a couple other reasons, perhaps more obvious ones, to love a man in a kilt. Take a dramatic pause here and let your imagination wander for a moment.

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A man in a kilt embodies confidence and freedom. It can’t be denied that a man who dons a kilt in the traditional way it is to be worn is a confident man. He is proud and knows himself well enough to be completely free. He is bold in his freedom. Cancer works to wipe out confidence and freedom, just as it does identity. It fails here, too, because we are people with hearts, grit, and souls. Cancer has none of these. Therefore, those of us who live with cancer have the freedom to defy it every chance we have. Our souls won’t have it any other way. We can be just as confident, free, and bold. Kilt or no kilt. Hair or no hair. Breasts or flat chested. Defy.

I have learned so much from traveling and time spent in other places. Opportunities to be immersed someplace else for an extended period of time aren’t available to everyone. My year in Scotland taught me many things about myself. I realized I was extremely independent and quite a capable being. What I didn’t realize was that so many years later, men in kilts would still be teaching me new lessons.

I have much to embrace. I returned home from Scotland with two kilts of my own, a plaid throw, and at least three plaid scarves. A couple plaid flannels hang in my closet. Don’t get me started on plaid pajamas. I even have a chair with plaid upholstery. Whenever I have the chance to rise up and stage a rebellion against cancer, I take it, and I think very plaid thoughts. Plaid has become a secret weapon. It represents a lasting identity, confidence, freedom, and more.

Aye, whenever I might get a bit beaten down, I will think very plaid thoughts, and those thoughts will be good. My soul can’t have it any other way.

You know why.