Tonawanda News — I’m not, by any stretch of the imagination, a royal-watcher.
I remember being 7 years old, pulled in front of the television by my mom (also not generally a royal-watcher) to watch a few snippets of the Great Royal Wedding of Charles and Diana, with the admonishment that this was unique. This was history, of a sort, being made. I wasn’t a very princessy sort of little girl, but I remembered it anyway.
I remember the night years later, fresh out of college and on the hunt for my first journalism job, when Diana died. I watched the coverage with Mom, like I had 16 years before. It seemed like the end of an era, even in rural Western New York.
I don’t know why. Maybe it’s that so many of us grow up reading (and watching, thanks to Disney) fairy tales, where it’s all happily ever after and true love winning the day. Princes don’t leave. And princesses don’t die. But we watched and we shook our heads, spared a few thoughts for her sons and carried on. This was the real world, after all.
In 2011, I didn’t pay much attention when Prince William and Kate Middleton were married. I had a family of my own, bills, a job, too many other stressors and concerns to think for more than a few moments about people in a different country who have more money and power than I’ll ever see, simply due to an accident of birth. I think maybe I saw a few photos. Pretty dress. Good luck to them.
When the first news crossed my computer screen earlier this week, though, it hit some sort of a chord, and I’ve found it occupying a corner of my thoughts ever since.