When I was a little girl, I had endless, repeated fairy tales recited to me. Over and over again, to the point of memorisation (is that even a word?).
These fairytales, according to folklore, have been around for centuries. They were derived from folk tales and wisdom passed down through the ages. They arrived at me - a blonde haired, grey eyed, big teethed, lanky thing in the early 1980s and they took my mind to places of enchantment and magic and love and danger. I poured for hours over second hand copies of Hans Christian Andersen stories. I even visited his house in Copenhagen. I saw the Little Mermaid statue. (See above)
I have always loved fairytales. Storytelling. Stories.
They taught me lessons.
They taught me about what I should do with strangers. That only real princesses feel bumps in the bed (I was never a real princess, clearly, I can sleep anywhere). That you should build a house, strong and sturdy so no bad guys come and eat you. About Ugly Ducklings. Beautiful swans. Frogs. Princes. Towers. Long blonde hair. Porcelain skin. Kisses. True love. Injustices. Torture. Evil. Magic. Feminism and patriarchal society (not so blatantly in the 80s but once I studied literature at university, it made WAY more sense). Desire. Status. Deception. Luck. Greed. Murder. Love.
Happily, ever after.
For years I thought about these things.
Then for years I rebelled against these things.
But they were always there. These day dreams.They still are. The fairytales of how my life should be. Of how the world, according to centuries of wisdom, according to time immeasurable, should and has always been.
I am a culmination of, a product of, everything I've ever seen, read, heard, smelled, touched, experienced. Been exposed to...
And now, as a mother of a Bean, I wonder how much of these things I should teach him. How many of these stories I should tell him. Expose to him.
Am I setting him up for a life of dreaming of something that doesn't really exist? Or is that pessimism at its best?
Are there fairytales to teach him of fighting social injustice? Of fair trade? Of nature? Of climate change? Of war and famine and disease for the sake of greed and money and exploitation?
Do I want him to fear strangers when more often than not, violent crime is committed by someone known to the victim? Often known very well.
Do I want him to believe in 'happily, ever after' when the term really doesn't make sense? If someone is happy ALL the time, it is just as weird as if they are sad all the time.
It's unbalanced.
It's not any good.
But I'm reminded, I remember clearly, feeling wonderful when enthralled by these stories. I felt as though I could do anything, be rescued. From what? My life? These stories made my childhood. They just may have impacted more grossly on my adulthood that any unwitting adult reciting these stories could ever have imagined.
And I remember these words, from a visual fairytale. From a comment on day dreaming and reality and magic and love. Off by heart, I remember this...
'Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle, beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child that you have stolen.
For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great...
You have no power over me...'
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