Wednesday September 09, 2009 at exactly 8:00 p.m. my little brother waited, patiently tucked in his bed for his birthday surprise from his sister. His gift was really no surprise at all; this mysterious gift began with the words “Once upon a time…”.
image from Wikipedia
Each year when the little one celebrates his birth anniversary I give him the gift of a fairy tale; fairy tales never cease to fulfill my little brother’s increasing appetite for literature. My decision of reading him a new fairy tale each year as a gift has a purpose of course. While I do believe that it’s imperative for my little brother to get hooked on literature at the tender age of four, my purpose goes beyond that as I could have easily chosen to read to him from Dr. Seuss.
My brother and I, like a lot of beings in this world, do not live in the most perfect household, and if we did, wouldn’t that be a miracle? I do not recall a time that my brother and I have seen much beyond our house, the school, and the doctor. We aren’t even allowed to go out and play; catching a cold or the air being heavily polluted are the biggest concerns of our parents. The fairy tales deliver to my little brother the portal to a world where the nonexistent exist and the grass really is is greener.
My brother is at an age when “playtime” is very meaningful. It is very painful to see my little brother stare with teary eyes through the glass back door. He stares and stares as if he stared long enough he could possibly unleash a hidden power from his eyes that would break the glass that keeps him from the wonders of our backyard. Whether it’s climbing the massive apple trees from Little Red Riding Hood or kicking a soccer ball through the long corridors of King Midas’s gold complex I am sure that my little brother has infinite imaginary fun.
My brother is quite young to understand a lot of situations, but his developing intelligence amazes me. He surely does not know what he wants to be when he grows up; that’s a decision that comes with time. Victor begins to develop an identity when exposed to fairy tales. He can either choose to join the dark forces and become Maleficent’s minion or be the heroic Prince Philip that makes the happily ever after possible. Being able to connect to a character makes my little brother able to decide in the real world what he is ready to be. This decision is heavily influenced by the case that evil characters dwell in doom while the hero/heroine indulges in the enticing riches that the happily ever after ending brings.
My brother is a pacifistic fellow and very courteous even for his age, an age in which kids are very dynamic. I dared him the other day to steal a cookie from mother’s cookie jar. For sure I thought he would, as the cookies were no ordinary store-bought Oreos. They were homemade pecan powdered angels, his favorite. He looked at me with an angry yet angelical facial expression. He was disappointed in me for trying to turn him into Ali Baba. In fact, he reminded me that I myself was doing something very evil as I tried to manipulate him like the Big Bad Wolf. He advised me to not ever let this occur again or I myself would end up in the streets like Cinderella’s ugly step-sisters.
Wednesday September 09, 2009 at exactly 8:30 p.m., Victor fell asleep as I finished reading Jack and the Bean Stalk. I was the first one to introduce to him the world where the Three Little Pigs, the Ugly Duckling, and sweet porridge come from; I do not regret it at all. I strongly believe that developing infants should have the pleasure of entering a world of fantasy galore. There are some individuals who insist that tales are stale and the only things that come from them are lies, which is true in some ways. Even children know that dragons do not storm down Prairie Ave., but when did it become a crime to have such an imagination? Learning is more than just mathematics and grammar; one has to learn how to drive the heart through personal choices.
“The recollection of such reading as had delighted him in his infancy, made him always persist in fancying that it was the only reading which could please an infant… ‘Babies do not want (said he) to hear about babies; they like to be told of giants and castles, and of somewhat which can stretch and stimulate their little minds.’”
Mrs. Thrale
Anecdotes of Samuel Johnson
1786
-Rosa Ramos
