While “the world” was “rejoicing” over the birth of a new heir to the British throne yesterday, we were celebrating the 26th birthday of our oldest princess (and also brain), Jessica.
While “everyone” on planet earth was aghast at the “news” that “Kate and Wills will change their own baby’s nappy,” I was aghast that anyone — at least any Americans — cared.
As a clever Facebook image noted:
We fought for independence…so we wouldn’t have to care about the royal baby.
I lived in England for a short stint while my dad was on sabbatical. We lived on Grove Lane in Leeds. It was the height of Diana mania, since she had wed Charles the Adulterous Crumb Bum two years prior and was in the midst of charming the kecks off the royal watchers of the world.
The biggest chunk of culture shock I experienced came from the caste system evidenced at every turn and how few of the young adults my age (I was 19) had aspirations beyond the status quo.
Now, it’s true that my four princesses and two princes (who, for the record, share equal rights to the throne and treasure), don’t have billions of dollars at their disposal, taxpayer funding, palaces, servants, titles, or a courtyard of nurses (to, I suppose, watch Kate and Wills change the nappy, dispose of the nappy, and sanitize the royal hands). It’s true they won’t have multiple homes or a million dollar nursery and wardrobe. It’s also true that there will be no bowing or waiting with bated breath to fulfill their every desire.
But the very premise of the American dream is that we are all created equal. Blood lines mean nothing. Genetics don’t determine destiny. Our rights are given by God, not by men and not by our parents privilege or position.
Absolutely, the royal boy is amazing. But no more amazing than every other boy and girl born on July 22, 2013.
So go ahead and celebrate. Peer over the wall, past the guards, through the gate — just to get a glimpse of the monarchical tot. Try to see if you can identify the elites behind the fascinators. See if you can get a photo. Write it in your journal. Buy a commemorative mug.
I’ll be looking around my house, in my neighborhood, and down the block. And I’ll see children just as royally awesome.