Mom… Dad… I’m Gaelic.

My cousin is becoming increasingly obsessed with all things Celtic.

I’m not really sure how this happened. I never saw the warning signs. I was just talking to him one day, and here comes a heavy Scottish accent and an inexplicable need to toss a caber another three metres. I just don’t understand.

I know it’s his own choice, but I’m still having a hard time grasping it. There are some aspects of his life now that I simply don’t get – like the sudden love he’s developed for bagpipes, or the frequent mention of enormous swords in casual conversation. I got into the car the other day, and he informed me to which clan my tartan belonged. I just thought it was a nice plaid shirt.

And now he’s planning some kind of global takeover. I’m really not sure how he intends to do it, but he seems certain that he can get people to adopt the accent without realizing it. More difficult will be his attempt to get people to wear kilts without their own knowledge. (Although it seems I was wearing a common tartan pattern without a foggy clue about it. Perhaps he’s on to something.) While most evil overlords try to conquer by force, it seems that Caleb intends to conquer by fashion. And maybe an unintelligible accent.

Whether or not he succeeds, it’s comforting to me that he’s my kin. If I look around one of these days and realize that everybody’s got kilts instead of pants, at least I’ll know the ruling party is my own clan. I just pray he doesn’t learn to cook haggis. ◊

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