Why Cinderella Was Wrong

I’d managed to negotiate the minefield of paternal death and evil stepmothers. I’d even managed to deal with issues of abuse, destitution and servitude without a peep of enquiry, but we crunched to a resounding stop when we got to the fairy godmother. 

“So a fairy godmother can give you anything you ask for?” H said.

“Yes, sort of – she’s there to make your wishes come true.” I replied.

“And what did Cinderella ask for again?” said H, hoping that it might have changed from the last time that I told him. 

“She wanted a pretty dress, a carriage and to go to the ball that the Prince was holding.”

“What?” exclaimed H. “Why did she ask for those when she could have had Jump Boots?” 

and from that moment, Cinderella lost all credibility in the eyes of my 3 year old. 

It’s nice, but it’s not a Jump Boot…

Jump Boots are one of H’s made up things.  From what I can work out they are just like normal boots but would allow you to jump very high when worn.  I’ve had to break it to him gently that they don’t actually exist but (and here I’d like some acknowledgement of maternal genius please) broccoli does the same job in making you jump higher than ever before.  He’s now asking for broccoli for every meal.  

H had asked me for a story on Sunday morning as I was preparing the roast before heading to church.  There was a certain amount going on in the kitchen so I opted for retelling an old favourite rather than having to come up with my own.  However, I wasn’t far into the story before I started hitting minefields.   

How do you deal with the death of the father? I said that bit very quickly in the hope that H wouldn’t pick up on it and start asking difficult questions.  I know that at some point we’ll have to discuss death and the afterlife and, as Christians, we should probably be looking forward to such an occasion as a chance to share with H the confidence we have in salvation through Christ, but I’d really rather it didn’t happen whilst I was trying to peel a sweet potato.

After we’d dispensed with Cinderella and the disappointing lack of Jump Boots, H asked for another story.  The first one that came to mind was Snow White.  I really wish it hadn’t.  Especially when H substituted his little friend Jane for Snow White.  Try telling a 3 year old that his friend Jane was going to be taken out into the woods by the huntsman, killed, and her heart taken back to the wicked stepmother.  I couldn’t do it.  In my version the huntsman took Jane into the wood and got her lost so she couldn’t find her way back to the castle. 

We watched Dumbo a little while ago too.  We’re not doing that again.  H kept asking where Dumbo’s mother was.  “Well dear, she’s been put in chains and is being kept in a tiny cage which has a sign saying “Mad Elephant” hanging outside.  Unless things change quite considerably Dumbo will never see her again” is what I didn’t say.  No, Mrs Jumbo was on holiday and, oh look, she made it back happily by the end of the film. 

Bambi has been banned for life. 

 

Photograph courtesy of stagesyouth.org