It came to me. It hit me. It hit me like a ton of bricks.
It was Sunday night and the premier Downton Abbey, Season 5 in Canada.
I had chatted with my father earlier in the evening and he told me that he was excited that Downton Abbey was premiering again in a few hours. What? He likes Downton Abbey? But I like Downton Abbey. It’s my Downton Abbey! My father, never in the years he’s been in my life, sat down to watch TV. Granted, I knew him “well” about 25 years ago but that was, well, 25 years ago and I did put quotes around the “well” portion of knowing him. His wife (who I adore, and I have to say for this piece that she is 20 years his junior) also loves this show. She and I have chewed the fat over the show.
Oh, and my mother, my father’s first wife of 20 years and a mere 5 years younger than my father, also loves Downton Abbey. What the what what? My father and his first wife (my mother) agree on something?
And then there is my husband . . . and me. We are in our forties and our Sunday night plans? Downton Abbey. We love it. We enjoy a nice glass of red, a little period piece and (most importantly) that the kids are sound asleep.
Why do I mention all of this? Because I promise you that I have never experienced the entire family agreeing on anything. We are all of different generations, different cultures, and different everything.
Can we discuss religion? Nope.
Politics? Don’t even go there.
Even the weather can be a bone of contention.
But Downton Abbey? I can imagine these us all gathering together and chatting about the sumptuous story lines we have followed for four seasons and now a fifth. And that is what hit me: we have found a subject that we can all chat about.
So I say to the creators of Downton Abbey: thank you from the bottom of my heart! Our family, despite so many differences and temperaments, can now chat about your lovely show and no one can get his feathers ruffled.