"Fairy Tale"

Dad bought a very old edition of Grimm's Fairy Tales when I was small.  He was very pleased to have acquired it and dramatically read it to us little people.  He excelled at that kind of thing.  He made up different voices for the different characters and held all of us in thrall.

The first story he read to us was Cinderella.  That sounds nice, doesn't it?  Friendly little creatures helping our heroine with housework, handsome prince, happily ever after.  You haven't read Grimm if you think that's the story.  No, Cinderella is an abused child whose sisters chop up their feet to get them into that glass slipper.  Birds peck out eyes... "That's enough for tonight.  I'll tell you another story tomorrow."  We were packed off to bed.

I went to sleep like I always did, and then the screaming started.  I had horrible, horrible, bloody nightmares.  Bloody feet everywhere.

Dad read another story the next night.  More child abuse and death threats.  In fact, let's decapitate a child.  "Bedtime!"  More screaming in the night.

I think you can see how this was all going.  Dad quit reading stories from his treasured book.  The screaming nightmares continued.  Dad tried reading nicer stories in the evenings.  He sang soothing songs just before bedtime.  Nothing worked.  I screamed in my sleep for two weeks.

It was fall then, and it was before anyone was concerned about carbon emissions from burning leaves.  I helped Dad rake and burn while he lectured me about how I couldn't let my whole life fall apart because of fairy tales.  I needed to get some sleep, and everyone else in the house needed sleep too.  They were just stories.  Part of growing up was knowing the difference between real life and fiction.

I burst into tears.  I sobbed as I told him I tried to have nice dreams.  I wasn't "trying to get attention" like Mom thought.  I went into the fetal position in a pile of raked leaves and couldn't stop crying while Dad stood over and looked at me.

He made a loud huff and stomped into the house.  I continued to cry.  He came back with his treasured volume and we put it in the leaf fire together.  No more fairy tale nightmares.  Everybody in my house agreed; it was the best book burning ever.

For better fairy tales...

Politically Correct: The Ultimate Story Book by James Finn Garner

Faeries by Froud, Brian and Alan Lee

"Fable"

Dr. Seuss (Theodor Seuss Geisel) was clearly the greatest poet of the 20th century, and he shaped more minds than anyone else ever.  Don't argue.  It's true.  You know it.

I recently read a book about Eva Braun, Hitler's girlfriend which talked quite a bit about German fairy tales.  The author's idea was that the viciousness of German children's stories had a part in the attitudes of the German people during WWI and WWII.

I don't know about that.  I wasn't there, and I'm not German.  What I do know is that my father (who had some German ancestors, so I guess I'm sort of German?) was thrilled when he came into possession of an archival-quality copy of Grimm's fairy tales.  He settled us kids around and read us Cinderella.  Dad was a great story teller.  He pitched his voice for drama, used funny voices, and everything.

I went to bed that night and screamed every time I fell asleep.  I had visions of the evil step sisters bleeding and mutilated, because in the original story, one sister cut off her toes to get her foot into the glass slipper, and one cut off her heel.  Even though my young self had a problem imagining how to cut off a heel, I understood cut off toes easily enough.  Screams rang through the night.  Screams kept my family awake for two weeks.  Apparently, my German ancestry is too diluted for me to handle the brothers Grimm -- though sufficient for a book burning.  After two weeks of night terrors, Dad reluctantly built a fire in the back yard and let me toss the horrible book into the flames.  My nightmares stopped.

I was given a Dr. Seuss album, a record -- you know, that object with magically recorded sounds in the dark ages before CDs, DVDs, and youtube.  I sat on the floor, with my eyes wide open and cheeks pink with the thrill of story time.  I also owned a Yertle the Turtle book which I read in sync with the magical voice coming out of the spinning machine.  Clearly, Dr. Seuss understood how to talk to children better than the Grimms.

I've pondered the Eva Braun author's theory about German fairy tales stressing obedience at the threat of dire punishments.  She might be right that stories and attitudes made for a militant society, but I'm glad I grew up in a time of Dr. Seuss and Yertle the Turtle.

The story in brief, is that Yertle the Turtle was the king of all the turtles.  He wanted to see farther than his pond, so he made the other turtles stack themselves up and he climbed on top for a better view.  This was pretty punishing for Mack on the bottom of the pile, who politely complained.  Mack burped and the pile toppled...

"And today the great Yertle, that Marvelous he,

Is King of the Mud.  That is all he can see.

And the turtles, of course... all the turtles are free

As turtles and, maybe, all creatures should be."

Did you know Dr. Seuss wrote this about Hitler?  I didn't either.  Seems like he could've written for some of the people alive today.  Maybe we should do a fundraiser and send copies of the book to some of these people?

Oh, right.  We have youtube now.  Watch it here.