From the day my three boys were born, we read to them as
part of the bedtime routine, no matter where we were in the world. Choosing
books with illustrations was a must until they all began to read the words for
themselves, which they accomplished before they started school at the age of 3½.
Because we were reading to them in Welsh (a phonetic language despite what you
may think when you see words such as llywyddiaeth),
they learned faster.
One of the main publishers of Welsh children’s books is
Gwasg y Drefwen (The Whitetown Press), which translates classic fairy and folk
tales, as well as publishing many of the classic Welsh language stories.
My boys were also given opportunities to hear classic
European stories such as Hans Christian Andersen’s most famous stories such as
The Red Shoes and The Little Mermaid. Of the two, these three rapscallions were
particularly fond of encouraging me to read The Little Mermaid for this:
“The wedding ceremony was a marvelous
occasion, and that night the prince and his bride set sail for his own country.
There was music and dancing on board, and the little mermaid danced as she had
never danced before. Though her feet hurt with every step she hardly felt the
pain, so intense was the pain in her heart.”
This is the real story—with consequences. The reason my sons
wanted me to read this was because I always cried. Though they were too young to
fully comprehend the sad end for the little mermaid who gave up the life she
was destined to live, endured great pain and could never speak nor confess her
love for him, they were exposed to depths of emotion and realities of life.
Andersen was no teller of happily-ever-after stories.
I stopped reading Gwasg y Drefwen books to them when the
publisher presented stories such as The Three Little Pigs, not as tales from
which children learn the basics of life without having to experience them. In
the Drefwen version, the first two little pigs are never held to account for
their lazy, make-do attitudes to house-building. They escape to their smarter,
harder-working, forward-thinking, prepared brother who gladly takes them in and
shelters them from the wolf.
So, the wolf, who is behaving according to his predatory
nature by devouring the unprepared, lazy piglets, is denied the fruits of his
efforts, teaching children that it doesn’t matter if you don’t take care of
yourself, someone else will. It also teaches that the wolf is bad, despite his designated
purpose in the natural order of the food chain.
For the same reason, I have lost respect for Disney. The
animated film, The Little Mermaid, completely upends Andersen’s purpose
expressed in his tale: be careful what you wish for.
For tens of thousands of years, humans have used
storytelling to convey experience and life-saving truths. What Drefwen and
Disney do is pander to the sensitivities of parents who don’t want their
children to endure letdowns.
I confess that my children’s disappointment at not being
invited to a classmate’s party was painful for me but, as their teachers
pointed out, it was much better for them to learn how to handle disappointment early.
Disappointment is a short-term low. A lifetime built on never experiencing
failure is, at best, unrealistic and, at worst, detrimental to our children’s
good mental health.
Fairytales sanitized to protect children’s tender feelings protect
parents from having to explain the harsh realities of real life but as I told
my sons, “Life is hard and then you die.” Or as the Navaho explained to their
children, “Go too near the edge, you will fall and die.” Or as my mother told
me, “Run with scissors and you’ll put your eye out.”
I still run with scissors but I take full personal
responsibility for the results.
