For my first post on this blog, I would like to address my future children (they’re hypothetical at the moment; this is not an announcement), not for any particular reason, but the format has worked for Neil Patrick Harris for nine seasons and who am I to question Doogie Howser? He’s an M.D., you know.
Hi kids! So I bet you’d really like to know how I met your father. More likely you’d rather slip back into the virtual internet chat room to which you are connected by a tiny wi-fi device that was planted into your brain during puberty (or, you know, when we thought you could handle it), but turn off whatever inappropriate thing you are watching and give your mother a few minutes of your time.
It was the fall of 2011 and I was living in Los Angeles, making very little money, but loving my job as a entertainment writer for a small pop culture website. I basically got paid to watch TV shows and movies, interview celebrities, and then write about both. That is pretty much the American dream.
I had always been a big fan of Star Trek; watching Next Generation was a Sunday night ritual when I was growing up. I’ve also always been into RPG, despite a rocky introduction to Dungeons & Dragons when I was twelve and your Uncle Cliff (the GM) wouldn’t let my swan maiden charm a troll into letting our party cross a crucial bridge. One day I found an online group that combined my two loves. I joined up and less than a month later I got an instant message from one of the other players, a nice guy from the UK who liked my writing.
That was your father, Paul. We started chatting and what began as a friendship turned romantic after months of daily, hours-long conversations, not an easy feat given that there was an eight-hour time difference between us. After a year of knowing each other, we decided we needed to meet. I booked a flight to London and in March of 2013, we met in person for the first time at the arrivals gate in Heathrow airport. Your father proposed to me a week later in a restored castle on the Welsh coast and we were married that August at your grandparents’ house in Florida.
Except for the months we spent apart waiting for my UK entry visa application to be approved, we’ve been pretty much inseparable ever since.
Moving to Wales might have presented some logistical challenges (putting everything you own in the world in 23 boxes which will be shipped across the Atlantic during hurricane season is an adventure in and of itself), but it has been an amazing ride that I never hesitated to take. That is not to say there haven’t been bumps along the way or that there won’t be many more in the future. Americans and Brits speak the same language (for the most part), but there are differences that can’t even be imagined until you’ve lived in both countries and experienced both cultures. Some of those bumps make for great stories. Those are the ones I want to remember forever.
So, sit back, relax, get your feet off the coffee table, and let me tell you what happened when your American mother moved to the middle of Wales to live with your English father.