My folks didn’t watch a whole lot of tv when I was growing up, and when they did, it was mostly PBS (public broadcasting). I suppose that’s why on very rare occasions, I’d come across my dad watching some unknowably ridiculous thing and have to ask what it was. A few times, it would be Star Trek, which – as an American – is a show I learned quite a bit about, eventually becoming a bit of a Trekker myself in college (where we watched new episodes of TNG religiously). On at least one occasion, though, I remember being really taken aback at the absurdity of the two minutes of something-random I watched with my dad. That was my first introduction to Doctor Who.

It wasn’t a part of the American psyche the way it was – is – in Britain. I mean, sure, I’d heard of Doctor Who and its slightly… OK, very eccentric fans. For example, the Doctor Who Club in college tended to consist of shady figures who wore long woolen cloaks around campus (come to think of it, many of them were part of the campus Druids, too…), which didn’t particularly inspire the uninitiated to jump right in and join the fandom. I didn’t really know much of anything about the show, though. I’m a bit embarrassed in retrospect to admit that when my husband commented that the first little house we bought was like a TARDIS, he had to explain to me that he meant it was bigger on the inside.

Not until one of my friends nearly forced the “new series” (aka, Nu-Who) on me by showing me the first four episodes (which I thought were OK, but not exciting; thankfully he persisted) did I really catch the fever. And when I did, I caught it bad. In the course of approximately two weeks, I watched the end of Series 1, the entirety of Series 2 and 3, and caught up to the then-currently-airing Series 4 at about episode 6. I have watched every episode from S04E07 (The Unicorn and the Wasp) onward as they were broadcast.

Perhaps it was the intensity of this experience – 36 episodes in 14 days is nothing to sneeze at – that branded it on my soul and made me want more. Lucky for me, there were another 26 seasons’ worth of backlog on which to catch up! Being the obsessive personality that I am, I immediately started looking for a way to get my hands on as much as I could (more on that in my next Confession).

I understand that there are plenty of Neo-Whovians out there (those who, like me, cut their teeth on Nu-Who) who have never warmed to the Classic Doctors. But I don’t understand why. It makes the whole Nu-Who experience so much richer when you have that sense of history, of continuity. How can you not love it all the more when you recognize that Ten’s drawling “well…” is a holdover from Four, or that Eleven sitting in a chair confronting a baddy with just a jaw-wiggling non-response echoes Three’s mannerisms perfectly?

This love of the entire series – Nu-Who and Classic Who alike – has led me to try to share the joy of stories well-told with anyone who will listen. I managed to get several members of my pipe band hooked on Nu-Who, for a start. From there, I’ve moved on to the Gospel according to Classic Who, and am currently introducing some of those same people to the wonders of Doctors One through Eight.

So in reality, I’m not just a Neo-Whovian, though that’s certainly where my roots lie. I’m an evangelical Whovian. C’mon in. Join the choir.