Once upon a time…..

I guess I just don’t remember being scarred after reading fairytales when I was a child. How can that be?

The wicked matriarch, the hunted animals, the fires, kidnappings or the near drownings were not the details that stayed with me. For some reason, I, like many kids, focused on the happily ever after, the star-crossed lovers who make it to the finish line hand in hand, good prevailing over evil.

Our daughter’s bedtime routines have had an astounding number of requests for our Disney Storybook Collection recently and as such, I have taken an interest in the types of stories I am sending them to bed with.

The first, Bambi, begins with an angelic, patient, caring mother who is suddenly shot and killed by a hunter. Our girls eyes wide with wonder, smiling in anticipation of the next sequence of events, I question whether or not to read on.

There is an absent father who is portrayed as a hero, certainly not the helicopter parenting of today. He is not home to pack school lunches, wait for the school bus or partake in a picnic at the park but for some reason, when he does bother to introduce himself to his young fawn, he is a legend in the forest and is to be honoured and respected.

Aside from the unnecessary killing off of the mother, the ridiculous perception of the slacker dad, there are sentences that simply do not seem appropriate for little ears, cuddling with their blankies (I now understand why they need them), tucked in tightly, ready to relax and catch some zzz’s.

“Fear spread throughout the forest.” I peek at the girls to see if I need to do some ad-libbing. No response.

“Bambi fought off the dogs.” Are they afraid of what is going to happen next? Not in the slightest.

“But a hunter shot Bambi and he fell to the ground.” Okay, this is the second shooting in as many pages and the girls seem more interested in the pattern on their quilt than the untimely demise of two innocent deer.

“In the meantime, the forest had caught on fire.” Please, this is for kids? Dead Mommy, a son shot, a heroic father who doesn’t live at home and the world as they know it is burning to the ground around them.

Nighty night kids.

What surprised me most out of the entire reading experience was not the questionable storyline but what Hanna asked next.

“Mommy, what is the problem with this story?” As if there was only one, she must have been encouraged to discuss character development, plot and storyline in her class, in between nutrition breaks.

I replied, “Well, I guess the biggest problem for me was when the mother died.”

Both girls in unison: “The mother dies?”

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