The Princess and The Princess

1997        

My daughter Amy was born at the perfect time if you like royal weddings. She was three and a half years old when Diana and Charles were married at St. Paul's Cathedral in July 1981.

Amy's life to that point had included a sprinkling of princess dust. She had been read and was starting to read books with a princess in them. She had the dolls. She had the pictures on her wall. She even had a pair of elegant long white gloves. She hadn't been invited to any balls yet where she could wear them. But they were great for hanging around the house, garden and sandbox.

We were a household that watched the news and Amy was interested in the news of the day. The wedding was right up her alley. She followed the run up daily in the Globe and Mail and was stationed at the TV early to ensure she had a great seat for the ceremony and the festivities.  

Amy created her first scrapbook from press clippings of the prince and now princess’s wedding. It's probably the earliest of the souvenirs she has created for us. We still have it. It has survived not a few ruthless de-clutterings.

About fifteen years later I had the rubicon crossing task to take Amy to Montreal for her second year at McGill. Her first living off campus. We went up the week before labour day to get her situated and settled. She and a friend had rented a nicely renovated two bedroom flat in the student ghetto. I was the muscle. There was lots of running around picking up all the things go into making a modern household. We stayed a couple of days to get everything done.

After our time in Montreal we headed up to Ottawa to tour Parliament and the National Art Gallery. I had lived in Ottawa for a short time after university so I wanted to show Amy around. We went to Mama Teresa’s for dinner joining many thousands of Canadians who've done that rite of passage.

After dinner we walked around a bit downtown. It was a beautiful August evening in our nation's capital.

Then back to the hotel for one more sleep before the trip home to Toronto for Amy’s last week there. We were tired from all the walking and the big Italian dinner and fast asleep by 10 pm.

I woke first the next morning. I turned the TV on with sound off to see the scrolling news and get the weather.

The weather was ok. The news was devastating.

Princess Diana had been killed in a car crash in Paris.

At first I didn't know what to do. I knew that Amy would take it hard because she had loved Diana so much. But I also knew that Amy was hardened. She had lived thru the drama of Sharin Morningstar Keenan and Alison Parrott, two girls roughly her age, being murdered in our part of the city as she was growing up. And she had recently been to the most sadly gruesome tourist sites that Europe had to offer. She knew about death.

My choice was to let my teenager sleep in or to wake my adult daughter to face reality. I had to make a grown up decision.

I chose to wake Amy.

It was the right call. While she was greatly saddened by the news she took it in like the grown up she had become.

Now my little princess has a littler princess of her own. That's Brooke who knows about princesses but doesn't know about Diana. She has her own heroines to learn about and grow up with.