Shakespeare in Love

Last Tuesday, I officially accepted an offer from the University of Leeds for a place in their taught postgraduate programme. The Thursday before the official offer, I received a letter from the School of Philosophy saying that they have recommended that I be made an offer. Since then, I have been freaking out about actually getting over to the mother country. Science Communications would be (is) the ideal course of study for me...a perfect mix of science and writing (more writing, of course). I have gotten this far and nothing is going to stop me from getting to the end. I am the type of person that wants to complete tasks immediately and until I've gotten done all that I need to do, I worry about it...constantly. Basically, I will be freaking out until I am in the U.K., sitting in the first row of my first lecture.

My mother, the "free spirit" that she is, hates when I constantly worry. It is because when I constantly worry, I direct all “my negative energy” towards her in the form of a string of continuous questions:

"Mom, am I really going?"

"Mom, do you think I'm actually going to get there?"

"Mom, am I really going to go to England?"

"Mom..."

"Mom..."

"Mom..."

After four children over the course of the last twenty-one years, my mother has developed immunity to our continuous bugging. However, I think that because I've grown in intellectual thought and maturity during my college experience (or because I've been away for the last four years), her immunity to my voice has weakened. Now, when I repeat her name over and over again, instead of being able to ignore it, it actually annoys her. This drives her crazy, especially when she is in the midst of devising new lesson plans.

On the first day of bugging her, she was patient and kind towards me:

"Of course you're going to go! We're so proud of you!"

As a science major, I am always in need of proof in order to believe something. It is just my nature to constantly question. So when she begins to realize that her kind responses no longer have an effect on me, she begins to add in evidence, usually in the form of past events to give me faith that the situation will work out for the best:

"Soph, of course you're going to go! When have we ever not gotten you where you needed to go?"

After I've thought about this for a while and returned to her sitting area to ask more questions, she'll add something else:

"Remember Germany? You went there for a month. We got you there."

True. This will suffice for a short amount of time. After days of the same questions, her patience begins to run low. Her responses become progressively more annoyed until every answer is:

"Soph, just get away from me."

When today's interrogation began, she thought of a more creative approach to answer my questions. She got up out of her chair (which is a miracle in itself, a sign that I must surely be pissing her off) and proceeded to the VCR, where she put in Shakespeare in Love and gave me the following instructions:

"Pay attention to Geoffrey Rush's character.”

After bargaining with her, the decision was made that I will watch the movie if she talks to me about University afterwards.

So for the past two hours, I have been watching Shakespeare in Love, trying to understand the meaning of her antics. When it came to the scene where “Romeo and Juliet” was just about to be performed, my mother prompted me to pay attention. The dialogue was between a frantic William Shakespeare and Geoffrey Rush’s character.

Shakespeare: We're lost.

Geoffrey Rush’s character: No, it will turn out well.

Shakespeare: How will it ?

Geoffrey Rush’s character: l don't know. lt's a mystery.

Still a little confused, I was prompted to listen to the next dialogue between the two men:

Geoffrey Rush’s character: Another little problem.

Shakespeare: What do we do now ?

Geoffrey Rush’s character: The show must-- You know.

Shakespeare: Go on !

Geoffrey Rush’s character: Juliet does not come on for pages.

lt will be all right.

Shakespeare: How will it ?

Geoffrey Rush’s character: l don't know. lt's a mystery.

At this point, my mom was in hysterics. I now understood the meaning of her nerdy little joke. I was the frantic William Shakespeare, worrying about how things will turn out without a strict plan, and she was Geoffrey Rush’s character, reassuring that all will be well, without even a slight notion of how it will get that way.

My mom loves cheesy movies. I despise them. While my mom watches Tristan and Isolde, The Boondock Saints, and Troy in one after another, I sit on the couch and make sarcastic comments throughout the length of the film. My mom defends the validity of the film, citing Virgil during Troy or talking about the various historical writings of Tristan and Isolde.

At the “deeply meaningful” end of Shakespeare in Love, I found the comment “What? That’s it? Wah wah wah,” to be appropriate.

My mom playfully snapped back:

“My god, if there’s any “wah wah wah” at this house, it’s probably you!”

At the same time, my step-dad whined in a voice aimed to mimic my own:

“I wanna ride the pony…”

It was obvious that my parents had grown tired of my nagging. Interesting how much you can learn from watching Shakespeare in Love on a Sunday afternoon. Just in case I had missed it, my mom ended the movie with a moral:

“Soph, Soph, all will be well….all will turn out. It’s a mystery, but it does.”