Fairy Tales
“Fairy tales aren’t real.”
“Fairy tales are for children, not teenagers or adults. That’s stupid.”
“Fairy tales are sexist delusions that warp minds and give people false hope about love and reality.”These are all things that have been said about fairy tales by non-believers who are too clouded by life, or circumstance, to open up to a world long forgotten in our minds. For those of us that still believe, it’s hard to get ourselves taken seriously in the dank, depressing cloud of negativity as sane, mature people who simply think that no one should resign to a life they don’t want.
Fairy tales aren’t just works of fiction for children to read. They’re life lessons, entertainment, imagination, and for some people, a second home. Each character, whether a princess in a castle or tower, children who have to fight for their lives, or careless people that have to right a wrong, each and every character has someone that relates to them, talks to them, and feels like a friend when they may not have any.
I remember being a little girl and pretending to swim like the little mermaid, or looking for wolves as I walked to the bus stop in case one tried to lure me to a neighboring flower bed. I had these big aviator glasses when I was five, and I read more than any kid in my grade. I was always the first to answer a question or turn in homework, so I had no friends until later in life. My only companions were the characters I read about, and the characters I pretended to be.
When Disney made the characters I treasured real, I was in seventh heaven. No longer did I have to sit and read to feel like I had friends, and I had someone to look at, someone to watch intently and mimic. I had friends, and I could just point to my VHS case and say, “Here they are! I told you they were real.”
Even now, sometime, I catch myself falling asleep as I read my eleven millionth version of Alice in Wonderland or Little Red Riding Hood, my treasured book close to my chest, as if pinning the characters to my heart, trying to make each and everyone part of me. So next time you hear someone talk about feeling like a Little Red or a Rapunzel, don’t just cast them off as immature babies who need to get a life. For some people who had really awkward lives, or lives that were different than yours, the only thing that got them through the day was imagining the lives that were in black and white; where they could pretend to be anyone they wanted, except themselves.
“Fairy tales are for children, not teenagers or adults. That’s stupid.”
“Fairy tales are sexist delusions that warp minds and give people false hope about love and reality.”These are all things that have been said about fairy tales by non-believers who are too clouded by life, or circumstance, to open up to a world long forgotten in our minds. For those of us that still believe, it’s hard to get ourselves taken seriously in the dank, depressing cloud of negativity as sane, mature people who simply think that no one should resign to a life they don’t want.
Fairy tales aren’t just works of fiction for children to read. They’re life lessons, entertainment, imagination, and for some people, a second home. Each character, whether a princess in a castle or tower, children who have to fight for their lives, or careless people that have to right a wrong, each and every character has someone that relates to them, talks to them, and feels like a friend when they may not have any.
I remember being a little girl and pretending to swim like the little mermaid, or looking for wolves as I walked to the bus stop in case one tried to lure me to a neighboring flower bed. I had these big aviator glasses when I was five, and I read more than any kid in my grade. I was always the first to answer a question or turn in homework, so I had no friends until later in life. My only companions were the characters I read about, and the characters I pretended to be.
When Disney made the characters I treasured real, I was in seventh heaven. No longer did I have to sit and read to feel like I had friends, and I had someone to look at, someone to watch intently and mimic. I had friends, and I could just point to my VHS case and say, “Here they are! I told you they were real.”
Even now, sometime, I catch myself falling asleep as I read my eleven millionth version of Alice in Wonderland or Little Red Riding Hood, my treasured book close to my chest, as if pinning the characters to my heart, trying to make each and everyone part of me. So next time you hear someone talk about feeling like a Little Red or a Rapunzel, don’t just cast them off as immature babies who need to get a life. For some people who had really awkward lives, or lives that were different than yours, the only thing that got them through the day was imagining the lives that were in black and white; where they could pretend to be anyone they wanted, except themselves.