Perspective always changes, its one of my favorite things in life, watching and seeing the perspective of something being changed. Whether it be gradual or instantaneous, its always a treat. For example, I hated the bagpipes, let me rephrase, I didn’t understand the bagpipes. Back then at least. This all changed when I was 13, an 8th grader. I was on top of the world because what 8th grader isn’t. I come from a multi-cultural family, my mother Pilipino and my father a mix of Celtic and English heritage and one summer my father decided that we should explore our Celtic heritage. We knew little and what we did know was that we were from Clan Campbell. After a quick internet search he found what he thought was the greatest thing in the whole
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The day started off with my family of 5 piling into our typical grey suburban mini-van with sliding doors and drove what felt like hours but was really 15 minutes down the road, a trip I made several times a day. Everyone in the car with the exception of myself was filled with excitement and curious about what they were about to see. My father spouted out all of his knowledge to us in the car, there was no escape to the stream of words escaping his mouth, “Did you know our ancestors fought in this war, and that’s why were enemies with this clan!”, “Clan McDonald killed several of our ancestors and to this day we still fight.” a nonstop flow of information, much like Niagara falls. When we finally parked it was like the level of excitement increased tenfold. As we left the air-conditioned car, the heat hit me like a ton of bricks, I was not, I repeat not happy. We wandered the festival grounds which was on a golf course, the crowd of people were catted by the straight row of stalls, filled with kilts, food, and cheap jewelry. There was a mixture of normal people dressed in normal clothes and people who dressed like they lived in the medieval times. The air was a mixture of sweat and beef pastry’s. What followed the smell was the sound, the sound of chatter, people peddling, and bagpipes. Needless to say it was loud, it was all stimulating to the mind it still did not peak my interest and I wanted to go
The day started off with my family of 5 piling into our typical grey suburban mini-van with sliding doors and drove what felt like hours but was really 15 minutes down the road, a trip I made several times a day. Everyone in the car with the exception of myself was filled with excitement and curious about what they were about to see. My father spouted out all of his knowledge to us in the car, there was no escape to the stream of words escaping his mouth, “Did you know our ancestors fought in this war, and that’s why were enemies with this clan!”, “Clan McDonald killed several of our ancestors and to this day we still fight.” a nonstop flow of information, much like Niagara falls. When we finally parked it was like the level of excitement increased tenfold. As we left the air-conditioned car, the heat hit me like a ton of bricks, I was not, I repeat not happy. We wandered the festival grounds which was on a golf course, the crowd of people were catted by the straight row of stalls, filled with kilts, food, and cheap jewelry. There was a mixture of normal people dressed in normal clothes and people who dressed like they lived in the medieval times. The air was a mixture of sweat and beef pastry’s. What followed the smell was the sound, the sound of chatter, people peddling, and bagpipes. Needless to say it was loud, it was all stimulating to the mind it still did not peak my interest and I wanted to go