I grew up on fairy tales. Somehow, it was by those tales that I gauged what love was all about. Cinderella was about someone rescuing her from a life of poverty, and Snow White was saved by a simple kiss. Yet Beauty and the Beast is the one fairy tale that took root in my life. And I didn't even know it, until I watched the Disney animated movie. It was then that I realized that I'd been like Belle. I believed that if I loved someone hard enough, loved them even though they were cruel and abusive, I could change who they were. I could love them into a handsome, kind Prince. I never understood where the craziness came from, but I thought if I loved him, was understanding, even when he beat me, I could change him. After all, Belle did that for the Beast. I don't even recall reading that tale as a child. Perhaps it was read to me by a parent or sibling or teacher. I remember we had the book of Grimms Fairy Tales. It was a huge book with colorful pictures and some scary stories. But Beauty and the Beast? I don't remember it! Yet that one fairy tale formed my views on love and affected every facet of who I was. There was this one scene in the animated movie that made me sit up and pay attention. Beast began tearing the room apart because Belle had entered the west wing of the castle. He was screaming at her. She'd disobeyed him. He was frightening, looming over her, destroying the furniture. And here was Belle, apologizing! Not unlike what I had done so many times. I even cleaned up after his raging. When the pot of spaghetti and sauce was thrown against the refrigerator because dinner was late, I cleaned it all up -- no trace was left. When the phone was ripped from the wall because I'd made a call, I paid to replace it. When the beatings left bruises, I wore make-up and long sleeved shirts in the summer. And I apologized that I had made him mad. And I was going do better. I was going to love him more, so he wouldn't be mad at me. I just knew that if I loved him, loved him through it all, he wouldn't hurt me any longer. Well, thankfully, one day I put away that childhood fantasy -- that one I knew nothing about. And lived happily ever after. The moral of this story: Don't rear your daughters on fairy tales. GlassPoet © 2002 |
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| The Fairy Tale |
| Published in SHE Caribbean Spring 2004 issue |