My Daughter And The Real Doctor Who
I took my girls to New York City last weekend. It was their first time there and they were very excited. High on the list of things to do was seeing Times Square, going to the top of the Empire State Building and getting cupcakes. We did all those things, but nothing compared to the moment my youngest daughter thought she saw “The Real” Doctor Who walking toward us down the street.
She’s just nine years old so she has seen only a few episodes of Doctor Who. There is no way she’s watching those nightmare-inducing Weeping Angels just yet. Still, the episodes she has seen have made her fall in love with The Doctor. She’s forever asking to watch another episode or even re-watch one she’s already seen and I usually say yes.
Since my favorite Doctor is David Tennant, she’s decided he’s her favorite, too. I can only hope this will last. She says she likes him for his crazy hair and actually calls him “The Crazy Hair Doctor” which I’ve caught myself doing, too. He’s our Doctor.
So, we find ourselves bundled against the cold in New York City. I’ve got my scarf wrapped up to my eyeballs and she’s got on of those laplander hats that looks like an owl pulled down as low as it’ll go on her head. We are cold. We are hunkered down on our cupcake quest and I am not really noticing the people passing us.
Until she stops dead in her tracks and gasps. At first I thought she’d tripped but then she points down the sidewalk and says, “Look, Mommy! Look at that man!” and I’m almost afraid to look because this is New York City. Who knows what this man is doing to get her attention. I look.
It’s a man with crazy hair. And a brown trenchcoat. He is paying no attention to us as he hurries down the street, clearly half-frozen. “Mommy, he looks just like The Doctor!” she squeals. I agree that he does, because the guy looks so much like him that he’d have fit right in with cosplayers at a convention.
My little girl giggles and turns to watch him walk away. She then looks up at me from beneath the fuzzy edge of her owl hat and says “I bet that was the real one. Not the TV one, but the real, real one. That was the real Doctor!” and her eyes look about the size of an owl’s.
I debate this in my head for about a millisecond before I agree with her again that, yes, he definitely could be the real, real Doctor. She is delighted. We decide that maybe he’s getting cupcakes in New York City, too and then continue on our quest.
And really, who knows, in some alternate timeline there could be a Real Doctor and it’s entirely possible he stopped in New York City for cupcakes last Saturday afternoon.