Each month we will be featuring a guest writer and this month is Andrew McDiarmid, born and bred in Edinburgh, Scotland, currently living in South Texas. He has a radio show in Texas called Simply Scottish. However, he is a writer, and currently writes regular columns for U.S Scots Magazine in America, and Now You Know!, a feature in a newspaper based in Lanarkshire, Scotland.

"Andrew," my mother whispered. "Andrew, wake up - we're going to America." And then one hot, humid, Harlingen Christmas, my parents got me a computer, and using the Information Superhighway, I changed completely the way I connected to Scotland. Using the Internet, I could now instantly communicate with family and friends in Scotland. I could learn as much as I could about everything Scottish. I could even sit with my Dad every Saturday morning at 9 a.m, and watch live typed commentary of every Hibs game, from the 3 p.m kick-off to the nail-biting last minute. Every day, I read the Scottish newspapers online, familiarizing myself with Scottish politics for the first time, and preparing myself for the historic days to come. I began seeking out Scottish music, the first being the familiar, hardy, Scottish-accented sounds of Craig and Charlie Reid, The Proclaimers. I was over the moon as their song "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" reached number one on the American charts, and their patriotic and soulful songs fanned the flame inside me even higher. Along with my newly found Scottish patriotism came a few other things too. My feisty nature surfaced, and I found myself standing up adamantly for what I believed in. I never let anyone step over me or treat me wrongly, and lost friends and jobs because of it. To keep a job in America, one must keep his tail between his legs, and speak softly only when spoken to. I couldn't do that, and neither could my dad, who found himself unfairly out of a job quite a few times simply because he stood up for himself. As I worked my way through high school, my passion for Scotland was channeled into many different areas. I became active in local theatre, and worked on my love for writing music and playing the piano. I was radiating with energy. As a Scot, I felt I had to make my dreams come true. I owed it to my family, to my country, and to God, who had guided us this far, and was never far away. In 1997, we had saved up enough money to return to Scotland, and we did, for the first time in seven years. On my way over, I remembered how it had been as I left it, my friends, my school, my city, and all our family. I was in for a shock. I went searching for all my school friends, all my P7 friends whom I had spent most of my time. As I asked about each, I slowly realized just how long we had been gone. "Paul? Och, he's in jail -- drugs. Stephanie? She got married yonks ago, think she has a bairn. Pamela? She's a model now, did yae ken that? And Scott, a dinae ken where he went tae -- disappeared." It was a similar story as my parents asked their questions. "Jesse? She died years ago. And mind John's wife from the club? Deid, aye. Oh and Sandra's husband from doon the street? Aye, cancer took him. And mind wee Mary Urqhuart fae across the street? She -- aye, fraid so, aye. A wee shame, that was." Our 1997 return became a good time to remind myself how the people of Scotland lived, and how they felt about the issues I had consumed myself with all the way over in Texas. I thought every Scot should be swearing allegiance to the Scottish National Party, and every Scot should have embraced the movie Braveheart as a return to Scottish patriotism, and a reaffirmation of Scottish nationhood. Another surprise. Most I talked with, including family and friends, dismissed Braveheart as Hollywood fluff, and laughed at the notion of an SNP in power. They could not for the life of them see where my passion came from, and why the flame was burning so brightly. I tried to explain. But it was largely to no avail. As humorous, talented, and good-natured the people of Scotland are, there is something else that eats away at them, that hinders them from daring to hope or dream for the not-yet-reached. It's a dangerous, erosive mixture of apathy, hopelessness, ignorance, and an overabundance of rain. It's a plain fact that rare sunshine and almost daily rainfall affects Scotland's people negatively, no matter how many Saltires fly. Another glaring and alarming difference to Scotland upon our visit in 1997 was the number of English accents we heard everywhere - in hotels, in shops, in supermarkets, in stations, and on the television. I have nothing against moderated immigration between England and Scotland, but I have fears that one day, the number of English will outnumber that of Scots in Scotland. This vision became all the more real as I walked through Inverness during a festival, and read on a street poster the words of some wise Scottish poet - "oh, to be in England, now that England's here." On one of our final nights in Scotland that summer, I attended my first Edinburgh Military Tattoo. It was truly spectacular, especially to a young Scot who had left as an unknowing 11 year-old and returned as a passionately patriotic 18 year-old. I cried more tears that night, listening to the loyal call of the pipes, and watching the magic of young Scottish Highland dancers show their love of Scotland through their feet. My return to Scotland in 1997 created enormous unrest in my life, caused in part by my meeting a young Scottish lass, whom I fell head over heels for. We began a heart-wrenching long distance relationship, which brought me back to Scotland at Christmas of 1997, and again in the spring of 1999. In 1998, I began writing, hosting, and producing a live, weekly radio program in Texas called Simply Scottish. I knew before I started that South Texas would be the worst area of the entire world to host a Scottish radio program, but the show succeeded, and taught me an immense amount about Scotland in the process. At the beginning of 1999, I joined U.S Scots Magazine as a Scottish columnist. Like the radio show, I was not paid for my efforts in the magazine. But here was another way I could share Scotland with America. In the lead up to the first Scottish Parliament Election in 300 years, I was glued every day to the Scottish newspapers online. I engaged myself in my own election campaign, which included emailing over 400 Scots with a message of how historic the coming election was. The answers I received sadly summed up the apathy that would poison the May 6th elections. Even for an election so historic, the showing was sad. Could it be that the Scots had given up the fight? Could it be that Scotland would never realize her full status among the nations of the world, that it would always be unfairly bonded with a nation it had so passionately fought off, on the battlefield and on the debating chambers, for so many centuries? I refused to believe the fight was over. It had only just begun for me. At the height of the election campaign, I was mustering up as much fervor as humanly possible, within myself, my family, and others. I had no majestic flag pole with which to fly my Saltire, no Main Street to show it off. I flew my Saltire proudly in my room, but I also flew it somewhere else - somewhere it was on display every minute of every day in my actions, words, attitude, endeavors, hopes and dreams - in my heart. As the election passed and Scotland's elected took their places, it finally sank in that this indeed was truly the beginning of a new era in Scotland. You could see it in the faces of the new MSP's. You could hear it in Parliament Hall, the echoes of a 300-year old voice: "There's an end to an auld sang." And in the same Hall, you could hear it in a different, new voice. "The Scottish Parliament, adjourned on the 25th of March 1707, is hereby reconvened." History was being made in my country, and all I could do in Harlingen, South Texas, was smile as I read the news, and celebrate in my own way. There was no fanfare, no parades, no big celebrations. But my heart was ablaze inside - fueled by the power of Scotland's past and the potential of her future. Through the years, my fever for Scotland rubbed off on my family, particularly on my younger sister. She had saved up enough money to return to Scotland for the last summer of the millennium. She was able to attend first hand the state opening of the Parliament on July 1st. My father was working that day, and my mother and I watched the Opening Ceremony through a state-of-the-art Internet webcast. It was fuzzy, and the image was far from perfect, but it would do. We sat there, connected live with Scotland, watching a tiny, moving screen. We heard "A Man's A Man For A' That" being proudly sung, and the stirring speeches by the leaders, the Queen, and Donald Dewar. And then I fought to hold back tears as we were instructed on "How to Create A Great Country" in the witty verse of 11-year-old Amy Linekar. As I sat there listening to her ingredients of Scotland, I was reminded of that other 11-year-old, the one that had left Scotland that cold, August morning in 1990. I had come a long way. As I go through daily life in Texas nowadays, I assure myself of some things. I want to make it in music here in America, just like Sean Connery made it all the way from Fountainbridge, near where my Dad was born and grew up. I want to return to Scotland one day soon, and help my parents settle down there. They've had a whirlwind of a life, and it's only right that their journey should finish up where it all began. And I want to continue for as long as I live to stand up for what's right for Scotland. If I had to sum up my love for Scotland in one thing, one symbol, it would be my Duncan's "Independence" chocolate bar, tucked away safely in our fridge from my last trip to Scotland. The chocolate bar I refuse to eat, saving it almost as if it were Scotland's independence itself. Scotland has just entered a new era in her history. As the new millennium begins, it will be an adventure in itself to watch just how our new Scotland takes shape. My love for Scotland shows in everything I do, every word, every action, every thought. I live and breathe her, and she is evident in my songs, my poems, my writing, and my goals. And until I can return to Scotland and one day run for a place in the Scottish Parliament - the new Scottish Parliament for the new Era in Scotland - that's truly the best I can do.

If you would like to contact Andrew he can be reached here

You can find more articles in the archive under Guest Writer's Corner