A Return to Fairytales
I don’t have the best memory, but the memories my heart and mind have filed away from my childhood (though few) remain rich in detail. I can often remember what I was wearing, what the weather was like, what I was feeling at that exact moment, the aromas, and the sounds that flooded my eager, listening ears.
One of those memories I hold dear is from the tender age of six. It was a summer evening, and my sister and I were enjoying the final moments of sunshine by playing in the garden hose. We played in the driveway, not the grass, because we enjoyed the warmth of the sun-drenched pavement on the bottoms of our feet. I remember the cool wind that blew gently, and gave us the chills. I pointed the hose into the sky, put my thumb over the nozzle, and we pretended that it was raining. I watched my sister dance under the misty “rain,” and as the sun mixed with water, I saw that she was dancing amongst hundreds of tiny rainbows, and I was proud of that.
This memory seems insignificant at first glance, but the more I have pondered and thought about it, the more I have discovered my reason for holding it dear. I realized that as I watched my sister dance, I envied her sense of complete child-like innocence and purity, and most importantly, I wanted to protect it.
You see, from the age of five years old, I was exposed to the massive amount of pain and reality that comes with life. I was sexually abused by my own father for ten years, and I am being honest when I tell you that I do not remember a time of complete child-like naivety in my own life. Every memory that may come close is tied to the reality of my childhood: it was not a normal one, and I needed to accept that. I try to remember the immense joy I felt during holidays with my family. Instead, I remember thinking “I hope I don’t have to visit Daddy today.” I remember weekend visits, thinking, “Maybe he won’t hurt me this time. Maybe this time will be different.” I knew what pain was, I knew that what was happening to me was wrong, and I knew it would alter the course my life was taking significantly. I was forced to grow up quickly and be responsible and strong, so I did.
However, I decided from a young age to not let the terrible things that had happened to me break my hopeful spirit. Through everything, I vowed that I would keep a tender heart and see the best in every person. I would trust, I would love, and I would let my imagination be wild and free. I would never stop dreaming. I was able to do this because of the incredible impression that simple story books and movies had left on me: I believed in the power of fairy tales.
No, I did not believe in the idea that our world was filled with magical creatures, Fairy-God Mothers, and pixie dust. What I believed in was the absolute hope and optimism that filled each fairy tale to the brim, and spilled over into my aching heart, and the hearts of children everywhere who needed something to put their hope in. I believed in happy endings, I believed in Prince Charmings, and I believed in dreams coming true. I had to, or else I feared I would be living in a terrible reality for the rest of my life. I thought beyond my years when I would whisper to myself at night “This will all pass. Your happily ever after is not far off.” I resonated with every fairy tale because each one began with a terrible struggle. Cinderella’s father died, leaving her in the hands of an evil step-mother and two bad-mannered, intrusive step sisters. Aurora, the sleeping beauty, is cursed by a witch who declared that before her 16th birthday, Aurora would die by pricking her finger on the spindle of a spinning-wheel. To avoid this, her loving father and mother had to give her up and place her in the care of three fairies who would protect her. Belle was bright girl who lost her mother at a young age. Her father becomes captive in the castle of fearsome beast, and Belle demonstrates her bravery by taking his place. As I pondered the stories of each of the princesses, I couldn’t help but relate to their stories in some way. I looked at my life, that began with a hideous injustice, and I couldn’t help but think, “My life is like the beginning of a fairy-tale.” Every story worth remembering has some tragedy in it, some trial that the character must pull through. For without a dispirited beginning, there can be no happy ending. Without an obstacle, there can be no ultimate victory.
One of my favorite story-book characters is Anne Shirley, from Anne of Green Gables. What I adore about her is her ray-of-sunshine personality, her rosy outlook on life, and her ability to imagine without reserve, despite her discouraging beginning as an unwanted orphan. You will hear me refer to and quote her often. I will leave you today with her wise words that pertain to the valuable lesson that I believe fairy tales teach children: “I don’t know what lies around the bend, but I’m going to believe that the best does.”
I am passionate about fairy-tales because I am passionate about unreserved hopes, marvelous dreams, and ever-expanding faith. So, the title of this series fits well. How can we make an elated return to fairy-tales? Let’s discover that together in the weeks to come.
All for His Royal Kingdom,
Sammie Marie
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