Scheming up princess weddings and dreaming up my happily ever after never registered with my childhood self. When it came to choosing "let's pretend" roles, I opted for Super Man and Wonder Woman over Cinderella or Snow White. I preferred the Skipper to Ginger. And, rather than fawn over Magnum PI, I wanted to be him. When my friend Susannah suggested we get our Barbie dolls ready for prom, I faked that I knew what it was, then quickly decided it was lame. My Barbies rode horses and raced speedboats. They kicked Ken to the curb when he brought trouble to the dream house. You couldn’t quite peg me as a tomboy. I just subscribed to different fairy tales than many of my same-sex peers. (Okay, I briefly wanted to be a football cheerleader and date the quarterback, but I was five. We lived in the South at the time, and societal expectations tarnished my thinking.)
By age eight, I busied myself writing and directing plays for my family (read: bossing my siblings around and making them perform for my parents), keeping a journal and spending entire Saturdays with my nose in a book—especially the Little House on the Prairie books. Laura Ingalls Wilder, now there was a hero I could identify with. Her family moved all around the middle and western United States by covered wagon. We did so by U-Haul or Mayflower. Forget Disney princesses who wore silk or chiffon, my pioneer girl heroines sported Calico print dresses and sunbonnets. They got their hands dirty right alongside the handsome farmers courting them.
That's the short explanation for why the Royal Wedding and the hullabaloo leading up to it failed to tug at my heartstrings. I wasn't that kind of child, so I'm not that kind of adult.
When I turned on the TV and opened my browser this morning, I braced myself for wedding overload. Sure, I admit I wanted to see Kate’s dress. Gorgeous! What really took my breath away, however, were the masses there in the flesh wishing them well. (Okay, and that stunning Aston Martin Volante DB6 MKII the beaming couple drove away in. Now I feel silly saying so, but I keep fawning over the photo on some UK gossip site. Really. I want that car.) It strikes me how many people care—and their numerous reasons for caring. For many, I suspect the royal wedding, with its real-life princess, her darling prince and glamor galore, rekindles fantasies from youth. Such an event gives us permission to unearth any childish wonderment and romance we've buried deep within.
My curmudgeonly self wants to groan about the ad nauseam media coverage, but the dreamer in me wins. Getting lost in the seemingly silly and senseless from time to time makes us human. I’ve enjoyed watching the world delight in this event. With all the seriousness adulthood brings, it’s good to indulge a dream from time to time.
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