Princess Diana

For this assignment, we were asked to describe a historical event and its impact on our personal lives. I would have written about 9/11, but pretty much everyone was going for that, so I decided to talk about Princess Di. Eventually I will write about my reaction to 9/11 because I think it important for the historical community to gather people's responses from across the nation. I think we should all write down our personal responses to historical events to chronicle our time. 

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Being a princess is a typical dream for a seven-year-old girl. Boys strive to be ninjas or cowboys or superheroes. Most young girls train unceasingly in plastic high heels and fluffy dresses to parade as a pretend princess. Once upon a time I was a princess in training, along with my best friend, Kristen*.

Today most PITs (princesses in training) desire to emulate Elsa and Anna from Frozen. The best part about growing up when we did was that we had a real princess to follow through the news: Princess Diana. The fact that she was no longer a princess due to her recent torrential divorce didn’t matter much. She had been married to a prince and she had two royal  children; that was enough for us. She was glamorous and lovely and elegant, everything you want in a princess. And she had married in to the royal family, so it gave us hope that one day we could be a princess, too. 

Kristen’s seventh birthday party was a Princess Di party. We rode around town in a limousine waving at our royal subjects and had a massive royal tea party in the back yard. We stayed up all night playing with makeup in our royal castle made of sheets and pillows. If Princess Di ever needed a helper, we were ready for her call.

Then tragedy struck on August, 31, 1997. Kristen’s mom sat us down on the couch and explained to us as gently as possible, “Princess Di was in a car crash in Paris. Girls, she didn’t make it. Princess Diana is dead.” Kristen and I squeezed each others hands, dumbfounded. My stomach rose into my heart and hot tears pressed into my eyelashes as I struggled to understand. Princesses can’t die, can they? Princesses are supposed to be saved from disaster in the nick of time by a knight in shining armor. They are supposed to live happily ever after forever with their prince, their one true love.

The mystery around the cause of her death just made it worse. Was it the paparazzi’s fault? Were drugs or alcohol involved? Why wasn’t Princess Diana wearing her seat belt? Didn’t all princesses know to wear their seat belt? Daddy always told us they did.

Kristen and I couldn’t even be around each other for a few weeks. All we talked about were princesses and the only one we knew was gone. Our princess parties just weren’t the same after that. Our princess, the one that belonged to us, had left us. A hole gaped in my seven-year-old heart. Not only was my role model gone, but my idea of perfect fantasy evaporated with it. Life is not a fairy tale, as I had hoped. There weren’t always picture perfect endings. Happily ever after could end in divorces and car crashes.

*name changed for identity protection