Sometimes unexpected joys come to us that are so far from being anticipated that they completely blindside us. I suspect God might specialize in using our children to bless us in this manner.

During our son Daniel's growing up years I frequently put on my best (admittedly awful) British accent by way of humor. I thought it was funny even if nobody else did! I admit to being an Anglophile of the worst order. I blame it on early childhood experiences, beginning with the television series "Robin Hood," starring a British actor by the name of Richard Greene. Now, having seen some "Robin Hood" reruns as an adult, I am forced to admit he was not such a good actor - but then who was, in the early years of television? Richard Greene, however, cannot bear the guilt by himself. There was also Errol Flynn the Pirate and Cary Grant the Generic Handsome Gentleman, all of whom had these silky voices boasting wonderful British accents that somehow made a path from my ears straight to my heart. Then came the Beatles... Who could resist such charm? (Seeing the musical Camelot and Walt Disney film The Fighting Prince of Donegal didn't hurt, either.)

Being a sickly kid (I dare you to find a worse case of childhood allergies or asthma) I read a lot instead of participating in the more common outdoor games in which most kids get to play. My mom bought in to some company that published cheap, heavily edited editions of children's classics mailed to your door at periodic intervals, so the stories of British authors Charles Dickens and George MacDonald were well-known to me at an early age.  By Junior High I had discovered Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre and not long afterwards my beloved Jane Austen and by that time the love of all things English, Scottish, Irish or Welsh was so firmly ingrained in my being nothing could have rooted it out.

When he was little, of course, Daniel made no objections to his mother imitating her British heros and heroines at the drop of a hat. I even programmed him into liking the superb 1995 movie rendition of Jane Austen's wonderful book Sense and Sensibility, starring Emma Thompson. (We read books aloud a great deal during his childhood, which must explain the anomaly of an adolescent boy enjoying such a film.) One of our funniest family stories relates to the this movie. We went to see it together and all enjoyed it very much, even 12 year-old Daniel. (I myself was positively swooning with delight.) We liked it so well, in fact, we decided to go again before it left town. A couple of hours before this second trip to the cinema, one of Daniel's buddies called to ask if he could spend the night. Having enough sense to understand most adolescent boys would rather do anything rather than sit through this highly refined, socially sophisticated and longer-than-usual period piece, I told the boy he was welcome to spend the night but that we were going to a movie I was quite sure he would not like and urged him to choose another night. Of course he would hear of no such thing, figuring if his friend was game for it, so was he.

About two-thirds of the way through the film I heard something that didn't belong on the soundtrack. It took me a minute to identify what the sound was, but I eventually realized it was the sound of someone crying! It sounded faily close to where we were sitting, but even at that it took me another minute to realize it was coming from our row. I turns out I was right on the money concerning my reservations about the success of the evening: my son's friend was literally bored to tears! I can't blame him, poor fellow, but I have laughed about it many times since.

It was about this time Daniel suddenly started giving me grief about my forays into the land of British speech patterns. "Aw, Mom! Why do you always do that?" he'd groan. During one trip home from college he even mentioned my British accent as one of the worst things about our family. Oh, dear!

Imagine my suprise a few days ago when I came across this little video, which he recorded on the occasion of figuring out the young lady he was dating was not "the one." Ah. Not only was I proud of his music, but the humorous before and after comments were, as you might imagine, balm to my soul. I guess the apple doesn't fall so very far from the tree after all.