An Old Story: My Mom met my her future husband on a blind date that I'd arranged. When they met he had an entirely different last name than the one he currently uses. It wasn't a very attractive name. It also wasn't his birth name. It was the name he'd been given after an adoption from his stepdad. When Papa Bear and my Mom decided to wed, they agreed on changing their last name to something entirely new. Or maybe the better term would be "recycled." They decided to use Papa Bear's original last name, one of deep Scottish origin.
The wedding was gorgeous. There were bagpipers and men in kilts. The women wore Celtic dresses and my Mom shouldered a sash in their clan colors. Papa Bear was a bit lost before he met my Mom, a military man with no purpose outside a government job. That day he gained a family and a passion. In researching his heritage, he became aware of himself in ways he'd never thought of before. Suddenly, he had a history. He dove into his Scottish lineage, practicing the art of ax throwing. This is what led us to the Scottish Highland Games on Saturday.
Scottish Highland Games:
Since this was to be a family event, all participants wearing kilts were required to wear undergarments. I would have hated to be the person in charge of checking.
Papa Bear, counting the paces from target to throwing line. This was the first year he ever competed. He got second place.
Hoop, trying his hand at ax throwing. He was beat out by the man who won first place.
Mmmm, Spotted Dick. Get your heads out of the gutter. It's just sponge pudding.
Hoop's view from the car. Lovely.... The little shit.