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When I hear bagpipes play, I am transported to a golden summer day that mesmerized me once each year in my childhood.

We had a neighbor, I believe of Scottish or Irish ancestry, who hosted an annual occasion during which bagpipers, in full regalia, played their merry music.

The pipers arrived early in order to practice their parts before the official festivities began. Their kilts seemed so wonderfully foreign to me, and the sounds they created with their instruments formed into a steady stream that beckoned to all of the neighborhood children.

I am unsure who was on the official guest list, but I always thought the best part of the event was that people could enjoy it on the periphery. No invitation was necessary to listen to the bagpipers bellow a jolly tune.

In fact, it was a contest, of sorts, to find the “just right” viewing spot. Too close meant the hubbub distracted from the sound. Too distant meant you missed the festive spirit.

Those summer parties helped me understand how to celebrate an experience without having to be in the center of the spree.

To this day, just like summer, the sound of bagpipes remains sublime.