Ok, maybe not so much an anglophile, but rather a lover of royal weddings, particularly British ones. Why? It’s hard to put a finger in it exactly, but I think it started on July 29th, 1981, the day my father (a self-proclaimed history buff) woke my sister and me up at 4am to watch Charles and Di get married. “An historical event” he proclaimed.
Wow. What an event that was. I was instantly sucked in. Was it my British blood? My Episcopalian upbringing and its ties to the Anglican Church of England? Not sure, but probably just a great story of a young girl, only 6 or 7 years older than myself, who got to be a princess. Cool clothes, great jewelry and eventually a dysfunctional marriage. *Sigh* Not such a great life after all.
As for my girls, I’m trying to get them enthused (and it is working!). Why? Not because I want them to marry a prince (dear God, no thank you). It’s because it’s an historical event. Just like when I dragged them to hear Hillary Clinton speak in South Bend, Indiana. They reluctantly went, but complained most of the time (ok, maybe it was a downer because they just came back from choosing a puppy and really, what can compare to that?) Despite your political preferences, she was and is a figure in history and they will likely remember that event for the rest of their lives.
The other day, I was watching a replay of Charles and Di’s wedding. Guess what? My family (including my husband who thinks I’m ridiculous along with every other husband) all became interested. “Who’s that?” “What’s wrong with him?” “How old was the Queen then?” Thankfully, I could answer all these questions for my curious crowd. It’s kind of like my theory about strawberry daiquiris: most men will not admit in public that they drink them, but ALL men are willing to enjoy them in the privacy of their own home, or my home for that matter.
Wow. What an event that was. I was instantly sucked in. Was it my British blood? My Episcopalian upbringing and its ties to the Anglican Church of England? Not sure, but probably just a great story of a young girl, only 6 or 7 years older than myself, who got to be a princess. Cool clothes, great jewelry and eventually a dysfunctional marriage. *Sigh* Not such a great life after all.
As for my girls, I’m trying to get them enthused (and it is working!). Why? Not because I want them to marry a prince (dear God, no thank you). It’s because it’s an historical event. Just like when I dragged them to hear Hillary Clinton speak in South Bend, Indiana. They reluctantly went, but complained most of the time (ok, maybe it was a downer because they just came back from choosing a puppy and really, what can compare to that?) Despite your political preferences, she was and is a figure in history and they will likely remember that event for the rest of their lives.
The other day, I was watching a replay of Charles and Di’s wedding. Guess what? My family (including my husband who thinks I’m ridiculous along with every other husband) all became interested. “Who’s that?” “What’s wrong with him?” “How old was the Queen then?” Thankfully, I could answer all these questions for my curious crowd. It’s kind of like my theory about strawberry daiquiris: most men will not admit in public that they drink them, but ALL men are willing to enjoy them in the privacy of their own home, or my home for that matter.
