When I was 12 years old my mother, an unrepentant anglophile, woke me up at 0-dark-thirty to watch what for years I would think of as “The Royal Wedding.” That marriage, alas, did not live up to its fairy-tale beginning. But having seen it, and having seen the pomp-and-ceremony of the English monarchy at its best, I’ve never been able to shake a grudging respect, maybe even awe, for that prince, and that princess, and all their royal kin.
On April 29, 2011 I slept in. Unlike millions (billions?) of other people, I didn’t see the ceremony firsthand. As I sit here, I still haven’t even seen any clips or highlights, although that’s sure to change.
But I’m still a little in awe. Royal-struck, to coin a term. If the Heir and his bride were standing here, I’d probably curtsy, or whatever it is a commoner is supposed to do. Is that a left-over effect from 1981 pomp-exposure?
Maybe. Or maybe it’s a simple as this: they seem like nice kids. And someday, he’s going to be King.
Argue if you will that the idea of monarchy is out-dated, and a non-productive drain on the UK’s treasury. You might even have a point. I might even agree with you.
But not until tomorrow. Because today belongs to those two nice kids.
