The Wrong Side of the Ocean

When I was growing up, I was always drawn to anything British. As a teenager, I listened to artists such as Duran Duran, The Cure, and Adam Ant. On public television, we’d watch episodes of Benny Hill, Are You Being Served?, or Masterpiece Theatre. I can still hear the theme song in my head. There wasn’t much available then but it always resonated with me more than anything else here in the US.

As I got older, I used to tell my mom that the stork who delivered me must’ve been drunk because he dropped me on the wrong side of the ocean. Even though I’ve never physically been to England, it has always felt like home in my heart.

One of my dearest memories from when I was young is of the sheep our neighbor had in a field pasture right next to our house. I would watch them through the kitchen window. Sheep weren’t common where I grew up. You would see cows and pigs occasionally but never sheep. I loved them so much, especially the little lambs. There always seemed to be one little black one in the group. They were my favorite because they always seemed a little more spunky. I can still picture them, jumping and playing.

My mom told me once that when I was very small, my grandma lost track of me for a moment. She looked out the window and saw me in the field, chasing the lambs, trying to catch one.

Maybe that’s why England feels so familiar to me — the countryside, the culture, the sheep in the fields — it’s all been part of me for as long as I can remember.

It is my greatest dream to live there one day. I don’t know if that’s even possible, but even if I never get there, it will always live in my heart.

Until next time,

Amy