With much dramatic whining, we dragged The Boy to ceilidh at a local parish hall. The compromise had been half the show then ice cream. The Man and I attempted a square dance, The Boy loved the music and wants to take fiddle lessons. Something about Cape Breton fiddlers eh? (Advice on fiddles is appreciated.)
The culture seeps into him, I'd say it's his sleepy Scottish genes but the Scottish side is the adopted one. On our way out off the island we end up at the Gaelic Centre (?), more fiddles, more gaelic roots. (The menfolk are of the Napier clan.) The Boy decrees that the crest is very cool. Balanced by my Acadian roots, history and roots are a theme this trip. The Man's father passed away back in February, maybe it's led to more existential musings about life, history and how it all makes sense. I'm not sure we came to any clear answers.