If I remember right (and it’s very possible I don’t), I learned to read before I started school, mostly by listening to stories on LP records. The kids call them “vinyls” now, as though to pretend they’re doing something other than practicing the old ways.
I’d slip the black etched disk out of a dark green paper jacket and set it on the turntable. Lying on the cool linoleum floor of my basement, I’d listen to a scratchy voice narrate one of a dozen or so fairy tales while I followed the words with my finger and turned the pages of a tattered picture book. On a good day, the needle wouldn’t get stuck in one of the scarier parts where a creepy old woman shoved unsuspecting children into her oven, repeating her maniacal laugh until lunch time while I sought cover under the hideabed.
Knowing these stories was helpful when we visited my grandparents, who lived near Chicago. Grandpa and Grandpa Willingham’s house was a quiet one. Children would not be found running or shouting or throwing things, though we might be seated at their dining room table learning to knit. Now, I may have been an early reader, but I was no early knitter. Rather than a pleasant diversion, such activities were the sort that would have me seeking a corner small enough to hide my tears and the shame of my incompetence.
But they also gave me the advantage over my older siblings, who were still knitting at the table. I could snag the best book in Grandma’s set of Wonderful World of Disney books before them. The four-volume set — the lone child-oriented item I recall from my grandparents’ home — included a book of fairy tales that often brought us kids to fisticuffs. The loser of the hair-pulling squabble would be forced to read the boring wildlife collection instead.
Within that single volume I had my favorites. I passed right over Snow White and Cinderella. (The princess business gave me hives.) I read 101 Dalmations over and over, chewing my nails the whole way through. (Tall women with cigarettes-on-a-stick and big black and white striped hair still scare me.) Jungle Book made me laugh. And then there was The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Mickey Mouse’s exploits as a magician wannabe, adapted from the whimsical scene in Fantasia with dancing brooms and water pails set on world domination, sucked me in every single time.
Reading the story gave me a belly ache, but I loved Mickey Mouse more than all the other Disney characters. He was the only one that really seemed, well, normal to me. So the story always hooked me even while I begged myself not to turn the page. I knew the brooms would take over. I knew the castle would flood at the hands of waltzing water pails. I knew never to trust a shooting star.
Worst of all, I knew Mickey would get in trouble. But I couldn’t help myself, maybe a little like Mickey himself. When it came to it, I turned page after page, worrying my way through his shenanigans and inevitable punishment.
Kim Addonizio tells us in this week’s reading from Ordinary Genius that fairy tales serve an important purpose in our development. They provide children an opportunity to confront their fears in a manageable framework.
Terrible things happen in fairy tales. Even in the watered-down Disney versions, stepmothers try to poison their stepdaughters, children are lost in the woods and captured to be eaten, young women are imprisoned in towers. These stories have fascinated adults as well as children because of their symbolism, their portrayal of men and women, morality and ethics. They’re rich with human drama.
She continues by saying that “any story you have to tell has been told before.” Our stories, in many ways mirroring the basic themes of ancient stories, become more interesting when “you make them yours, using the details of your life or your imagination or both.”
In one of the many prompts, Addonizio suggests writing a poem that is based on a myth or fairy tale, focusing on the story’s main character at the moment of making a decision. Of course, I knew that Mickey and I would be having a little talk.
Fantasia
Come on, Mick. Don’t tell me
you didn’t see it coming.
You had to know.
Nothing good ever comes
of brooms that sprout up legs.
You had to know
how they’d reproduce,
how they’d organize, mutinize.
You never saw them
in your sleep, did you–
flooding the stone floor
while your navy blue hat
floated away?
They marched in time
in my sleep, Mickey.
Night after night
after night.
Why’d you do it?
I tried to stop you.
Your orchestra was too loud,
you never heard me shouting
from the navy blue couch
in Grandma Edna’s living room
where my feet didn’t reach the floor.
“Don’t do it! Just sweep the floors!
You’re gonna get in trouble!”
You could’ve saved me
if only you would listen,
you damned fool mouse.
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We’re reading Ordinary Genius together. How did you do this week? Was there an exercise you particularly liked? One you were afraid to try? Would you share your poem in the comment box with us? Even if you’re not reading along, perhaps you’d like to add your own poem based on a favorite myth or fairy tale.
If you post at your own blog, please include the link in the comments as well as we can share with you.
We’ll conclude our book club next Wednesday with the last section. Perhaps you’d like to catch up from the previous weeks:
September 26: Part I: Entering Poetry (through Chapter 4)
October 3: Part I: Entering Poetry (Chapters 5-10)
October 10: Part II: Inner and Outer Worlds
October 17: Part III: The Poem’s Progress
October 23: Part IV: Toward Mastery
Photo by Horia Varlan, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by LW Lindquist.
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Glynn says
One of the earliest memories I have is my mother reading Grimm’s Fairy Tales to me. It was a large book with old-fashioned (1920s) illustrations with a green cover – and I still have it.
My contribution tot he discussion: http://faithfictionfriends.blogspot.com/2012/10/necessary-coldness.html
L. L. Barkat says
I just loved this: “He was the only one that really seemed, well, normal to me.”
And I remember those records. We had them too. I rather liked Snow White, because of the drop of blood on the white embroidery. Quintessential, you know? And, besides, Miss Snow had black hair like me. So maybe I could be a princess and give someone hives 😉
Donna says
I also loved that line about Mickey being the only normal one!
I learned to read from “vinyls”, too, but the ones that carried Mitch Miller and his singers crooning and harmonizing into my living room.
Looking forward to Addonizio this week. You have inspired me… I am behind.
Will Willingham says
Donna, I thought with your comment about thinking in metaphors you had read this section already.
Well then. You’ll enjoy it. 🙂
Donna says
Lol! This is funny! I have always been obsessed with arriving early, but it keeps happening that I arrive in the ideas of the next chapter while still in the previous one…. just like with Julia C! Hmmmm. Now I really can’t wait to get there and if I decide to branch out and hang out a shingle for psychic ‘reading’ you’ll be the first to know…. ;). (all kidding aside, I’ve actually been pondering this- these authors are such keen observers of the writer’s developmental process that they lead us to the next logical spot)
Maureen Doallas says
Your Mickey poem certainly re-evokes “Fantasia”, which I remember watching (more than once) with my son.
For me, the tale I never forgot was “Old Yeller” (am I showing my age?). I’ve always wondered if “Bambi” was just an animated version of that.
Myths and fairy tales are such great prompts. Last year, I wrote a tiny poem titled “Ariadne’s Thread” (June 2011).
Will Willingham says
Should I confess I have not read Old Yeller?
Maureen Doallas says
Never Trust a Princess With Hives
Unsuspecting children should never
trust a princess with hives, scratching
with her creepy finger on the basement
door, practicing with unfiled nails on cool
linoleum floor. On a good day no Snow White,
Grandma’s turned a face gone green as the Hulk’s,
her hair’s black-striped and shiny as vinyl,
her voice the squeaky eek of Mickey Mouse.
Amid the punishment of her own swirling
brooms, she’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
who never learned to dance to the music,
failed to follow the age-old advice to contain
what you will in pails. The sort who could never
follow the thread from her knitters’ needles,
she’s snagged on tattered covers of her hide-a-bed.
So, normal children, beware. The maniacal laugh
from the castle oven is your older siblings’
calling, It’s time, it’s time. The dining table’s set,
Grandpa’s put out the cigarettes and the needle’s
gone down on that LP stuck on your names.
Maureen Doallas says
The line break’s messed up. Should be:
…
she’s snagged on tattered covers of her hide-a-bed.
So, normal children beware. The maniacal laugh
….
Will Willingham says
Maureen, I fixed the line break, but I’m leaving your second comment just because that’s the story of my poetry life.
The line break’s always messed up.
Love the poem. Thank you so much for it.
Normal children beware…
Maureen Doallas says
Thank you.
May I disagree re “story of my life”?
Megan Willome says
The original Snow White is really creepy.
Maybe I need to give Mickey another chance.
Will Willingham says
They’re all creepy to me, Megan. I barely survived my own childhood with the fairy tales. Then came my kids… 😉 It was no easier as an adult.
Paul Willingham says
I think Bambi came first. “Old Yeller” I think starred Alan Ladd. More trivia you don’t need to know. We still have the vinyl but we don’t have the books anymore. I haven’t figured out the rules of poetry so I will continue to just string phrases together and hope they make sense.
MYTHS, FAIRY TALES AND MAYBE FICTION
No Orlando fantasy land for me, growing up
I lived in the canyons, prairies, deserts of the Old West
No vinyls, just a 5 tube super het and electro
magnetic radiation, The Lone Ranger, Riders
of the Purple Sage, Tom Mix, Straight Arrow
Roaming free in smallville Illinois, forts in corn fields,
Willow tree hideouts, riding bareback into the sunset
On the imagined catalpa tree cayuse, No sequined Spade
Cooley, not this hombre, quick on the draw, fearless,
Living vicariously through the writings of L’Amour, Short and Grey
Moved on to Ludlum, Parker, Francis, Grafton
Different venues, but still the white hats win,
But should AMC announce The Man from Laramie,
The Violent Men, The Magnificent Seven, The Big Country,
Reliving the heroes triumph over evil, there I will be
Your grandmother loved to read and it has carried over into the next 3 generations. Thanks for a great memory of your grandmother.
Dad
Maureen Doallas says
Thanks, Mr. Willingham. I’m sure that was a senior moment I was having. The thought of “Old Yeller” being based on “Bambi”, though. . . I don’t think I’m prepared for that.
Who cares about rules. Love your poem. Should I admit I can recognize some of those references?
Will’s had/has some swell teachers.
Donna says
I haven’t tackled the fairy tales yet, but for me chocolate may never be exactly the same again. Chocolatey Fear on The Brighter Side today: http://www.amazon.com/Ordinary-Genius-Guide-Poet-Within/dp/0393334163/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1350562121&sr=8-1&keywords=ordinary+genius+addonizio
Donna says
Asking for feedback from anyone who cares to offer it. Please see the comment on my blog, linked above, if you care to share.
Diana Trautwein says
Missed this one completely. How I wish every post would drop into my inbox. Here and THC do a weekly newsletter and I always miss things. The other magazines I follow send every single post to my inbox – a big help for us slow learners. :>)
Fantasia scared me to death! But I was a highly susceptible child. My aunt took me to see “The Wizard of Oz” when I was six, but I was an adult before I ever knew most of the movie was in color. I sank to the floor at the tornado and never looked up again! She was so pissed at me. . .