It’s a rumor in my family that we were once named McGinn instead of
just Ginn. This rumor is somewhat backed up by the fact that while at
college, my brother and I were in a fraternity with two other brothers
of the same ages, named McGinn. The weirder side of this is that my
brother married a cousin of theirs, meaning he probably married in his
own bloodline. We grew up in Kansas, not ARKansas, so I’m sure this is
nothing to be afraid of.
(And to my brother and his family, this special aside. I’m joking.
Please don’t be offended. It’s meant as humor, not anything directly at
you. Besides, if anyone is the mutant it’s me, but that’s another topic
altogether)
Anyway, today is Tartan Day, and while the blood running through my veins may barely be Scottish, I thought I would pass this
particular history lesson on. Some light language, but considering it’s
Scottish history we’re talking about, we should be thankful that it
isn’t worse.
My thanks to Matty O’Blackfive for this little treasure.
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