Explaining Pride and Prejudice to my Uncle, a Midwestern Farmer

      Recently my family and I traveled to the prairies of Illinois to visit my great-aunt Leona and great-uncle Dan at their turkey farm. They are a precious Mennonite couple, and their beautiful home is nestled in the cornfields, across the tops of which one see barns and silos. At the time, I had just finished writing Entry 1 in The Diary of Miss Lydia Bennet, which I mentioned in my welcome (never fear, gentle readers, it shall soon be posted!). One evening during our visit, as we were sitting 'round the kitchen table, I said to Uncle Dan, "Would you like to hear the story I am working on?" "Sure," he answered, "since you watched the turkeys being killed at the farm this morning, I will listen to your story." "Okay," I replied, and proceeded to explain Pride and Prejudice to him. I particularly stressed the fact that the Bennets are a rather anarchic family, with a great lack of propriety, and that in spite of their faults, how much fun I think they all are. Then I brought up the 1995 TV series starring Colin Firth, and Uncle Dan stopped me, aghast, "There's a MOVIE?!"
"Yes! And it's wonderful!"
"What did your mother say when you saw it?"
"Oh, my mother saw it with me."
Now he was utterly shocked. "Your mother saw it with you? Now, now, I think there's a law against the delinquentation of a minor!" Behind him, my mother and my dear friend were standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes after dinner, and when they overheard his remark they burst into silent laughter. I continued to explain the story, and when I got to the part about Lydia running off to London with Wickham, Uncle Dan said, "I can't take that much." I told him they eloped.
"No parental permission?"
"No permission whatsoever."
"You gonna put that in the diary?"
"It'll be in there all right."
Uncle Dan got to his feet and said, "That's the limit; that's all I can stand for one night. I don't think you ought to write that diary. Why don't you write a diary about a preacher? What about Billy Graham or something?"

You've gotta be kidding me.

I struggled to keep a straight face as he continued, "Get over those Bennets! No one should spend time reading about such a dysfunctional family! They are the spawn of the devil!" He constantly repeated this stern admonition to me for the rest of the trip. On the day we left I apologized for irritating him. "It's okay," he said, "and I actually appreciate your explanation of that crazy family." It has now become a joke between us: "Get over those Bennets!"