This week in London, America invaded. My parents visited.

On my first day in London, the SU London program rattled of safety rules and social norms for more than an hour. They outlined key slang words (quid=bucks, biscuits=cookies, Oyster card=payment for the tube or bus). They detailed how to navigate the city by bus, underground, taxi or foot. They explained how Brits love manners, and would never yell, ‘Help!’ but instead say, ‘Excuse me, I know you’re busy, but would you mind possibly helping me please?’

My parents missed this lecture.

My mother tried to take pictures while crossing the street, but London traffic is insane and pedestrians do not have the right-of-way. My dad approached a man working in the street and yelled, ‘Hey, where’s the subway?’ My mom brought a purse that doesn’t zipper to a city of pick-pocketers. They both carried their passports, even though stolen passports sell for thousands of dollars. My parents were surprised by the thought of ordering dinner at the bar and signs that say ‘way out’ instead of ‘exit.’ They marveled over the smallness of their hotel room and mentioned daily how well dressed everyone was. I realize that I’m not a London expert, but my parents showed me how much I’ve become accustomed to.

There was a comfortable unfamiliarity to having my parents here. I loved catching up with them, but it was odd to see them walking where I go to class and trying to figure out the city. For a week, our distant worlds collided. I woke up early before class to show them my favorite park and rushed off between classes to show them the Tower of London and Tower Bridge. I did things I normally don’t spend money on, like eat out every day, sit front row at a West End play and ride the London Eye. We saw every major tourist attraction London has to offer, but also where I run, my local pub and the best place to get cupcakes (Harrods Food Hall).

By Sunday, Dennis and Judy saw every part of the city, so I asked if they wanted to go to Stonehenge.

‘I want to use your laptop,’ my dad said. ‘I want to look up and visit the station Jason Bourne goes to in The Bourne Ultimatum.’

So we went to Waterloo, the largest (24.5 acre) station in the UK, according to Network Rail. While there, we stopped at a pub and met a Brit on his way to the NFL game at Wembley Stadium. All day we saw people wearing American football jerseys from dozens of teams. A man in a Patriots jersey held hands with a woman in a Giants jersey, next to a guy wearing a Miami Dolphins jersey. The Brit explained that here, American football is American football. People see games without really understanding who’s playing. He goes because he likes the exciting atmosphere of it.

‘We all wear whatever American football clothes we have,’ he said.

After lunch, my mom took a picture of the ‘look left’ and ‘look right’ road signs that are painted on almost every intersection in London. In America, this would be like taking a picture of a ‘yield’ sign; it’s just weird. Around the same time, my pub friend went to watch the Patriots vs. Buccaneers with a guy in a Steelers jersey. When America comes to London, whether it’s my parents or the NFL, both the Americans and the British have lessons to learn.

Courtney Egelston is a junior magazine journalism and political science major. Her column appears weekly and she can be reached at cbegelst@syr.edu

Published on October 28, 2009 at 12:00 pm