Torn Between Two Loves
I can remember the exact moment it hit me. I was sitting on the rubbery play surface at our local outdoor playground on an unusually warm and sunny British afternoon. My young children were playing some sort of imaginative game that required them to gather pebbles, dandelions, and blades of grass which they spun furiously in the gravity bowl while they chattered back and forth in high pitched voices with elfin British accents. The sky was blue and a jolly red post box stood in my line of sight as I gazed across Llantrisant Road. On the opposite side of the street, there were vibrant, verdant hills dotted with sheep and sluggish, grazing cattle. Right then the notion hit me like a stepped upon pitch fork hits a stooge between the eyes. We would eventually move back to the USA, and, when we did, I would feel homesickness for Great Britain in the same way that I yearned for my American home while living abroad. I would forever be torn betwe...