For some reason over the last months I’ve wondered, off and on, where my love of the English came from. No one else in my family is as obsessed with cultures outside the US as I am.
I thought it might’ve been my ex being from England that sparked my interest, but I soon realised that that relationship simply allowed my first trip across the pond to happen.
Was it, then, the hours I spent in envy listening to my college roommate tell me about her semester in London? The small college I attended hosted Spring semesters in London for the few who could afford it. My parents never tried to afford it so I had to make do with pouring over my roommate’s photographs and living vicariously through her memories of her months in London.
But no, neither of those was the reason for my being an Anglophile.
Last night as I sat down at the dining table, one of my all time movies came on television. No matter how old I get I will always love this movie and will watch it every chance I get. I also realised, as the opening credits flicked across the screen and the lovely music played, that my love of all things English took root when I was a little girl. The seed was planted the first time I sat down to watch Mary Poppins. What began as a desire to visit a country that even through that movie seemed magical, blossomed into learning more and wanting to expand my horizons.
So I have Walt Disney to thank for setting the stage for a life-long love of the country that gave birth to my own.