When I was little, dad used to read stories from a story book, about the elves who helped a poor old man to make shoes. Every time he finished reading the book, he would cover me with my blanket and promised that he would continue with another story the next night. The next night dad continued with another story about two siblings, Hansel and his sister, Gretel, children of a poor wood-cutter and his wife, who were abandoned in the forest. The part where the witch planned to fatten and then eat the siblings were quite scary for little me, but like most fairy tales, the ending was a happy one!
Dad read me all the stories in that old story book, which must have been extracted from Grimm's Fairy Tales written by the Grimm Brothers. With each story from the book, I would imagine that I was with the main characters, watching them went through happy as well as scary moments. When dad finished reading the story of Rapunzel the long-haired maiden who was locked up in a little room up a tower, I imagined how lovely she looked with her long blonde hair. The pictures drawn in the old story book did not help at all, as we did not have coloured prints and pictures then!
The story of Rumpelstiltskin scared me more than thrilled me. I remember vividly, when dad finished reading the story, I did not want him to leave my bed. I did not want to imagine myself in the story. I remembered covereing myself with my blanket from head to toe. Dad stayed with me and my little sister until I fell asleep. That night in my sleep, I dreamed about a little fairy flying in our room, and I could see the twinkling light of her tiny wand. She has transparent tiny wings with neon colours! She flew into our mosquito net which hung over our queen-sized wooden bed. When she got too close to my face I was scared and so I closed my eyes. When I open them again, she was gone! In the morning, I was so excited to tell mum about my vivid dream, but she didn't seem to be surprised or excited! On hindsight, probably she was in utter disbelief!
Now, as a mother to my own children, I am glad that mum and dad read and shared those wonderful fairy tales with me. When I grew up into my teen years, there were times when life was cruel, when I had my first heartbreak and when I failed to achieve some dreams and wishes. those times I needed places to be on my own, and the fairy tales that dad used to read to me earlier provided refuge for me. I would retreat into the recesses of my mind reminiscing and re-living my childhood and at the same time doing some deep thinking about where I had gone wrong, and how I could rectify them. I am truly grateful that I had the opportunity to listen to dad's story telling. each story carried meaningful lessons that dad tried his best to explain to me. When my children were little, I did the same to them. They loved fairy tales, but when they grew older, I cautioned them that life is no fairy tale, and that the days when people "live happily ever after" after some hardship and miseries are not always true. Nowadays, my daughters and I still enjoy watching fairy tale movies at our home theatre as well as in the cinemax.
No comments:
Post a Comment