A second in time where the world changed in a small way.
Lela has been obsessed with Cinderella since before she was two. She has watched all the Disney movies, (there are three), the TV musicals (Julie Andrews and Leslie Ann Warren), memorized all the songs, “read” the books, and was Cinderella from the hem of her blue satin gown to the sparkly tiara in her silky black hair.
And it was not just Disney Cinderella, though that was the most beloved. Ethnic versions from all over the globe piled up in the bookcase. Cinderella figurines multiplied underfoot. Lela would be so in character when gowned that she would only answer to “Cinderella.” I was cast as the Stepmother, Stepsisters, Fairy Godmother and the Prince, and got to waltz with the princess. The good news was that raggedy Cinderella, the pre-ball scullery maid, would wash floors. Sometimes it was fun, but living and breathing Cinderella can be wearing after a year or two.
I never had an issue with the princesses, despite growing up in the feminist movement of the 70’s. Perhaps it was the knowledge that loving dress up and fairy tales hadn’t stopped me from being who I wanted. There are always lessons to be gained and Cinderella is kind, generous, and loving despite hardship and does ultimately grab for her gold ring. Unlike when I was a child, there are now sequels – we get to find out what happened after the coach ride into the sunset – and the good news is that Cinderella gets a lot more backbone. I had more of an issue with the cost of the princesses’ multitudinous array of products and the consumerism it breeds.
But as she went to pre-k, gained more friends and grew, Cinderella began to wane, exchanged for other interests. One afternoon during the pre-dinner clean up, I was harassing her to put away the hoard of princess figurines strewn around the floor. She picked them up in reluctantly exaggerated slow-motion and dropped them in the bin, but when she got to Cinderella, held the figure up to her face, smiled, kissed the little plastic head and tenderly said, “Goodbye Cinderella” before placing her gently in the box. In that second I felt my heart squeeze with pain and love as I felt the world shift sideways by a tiny bit. My little girl was growing, changing, opening new doors, bidding farewell to a piece of her childhood with that kiss. A fragile snowflake of innocence had melted away in that instant. The pain of knowing that someday I might be the recipient of such a kiss as she headed out the door to save the world or down a flower decked aisle, again gowned as a princess to find her version of happily ever after.
Good bye Cinderella, I never knew that I would miss you.
Lela has been obsessed with Cinderella since before she was two. She has watched all the Disney movies, (there are three), the TV musicals (Julie Andrews and Leslie Ann Warren), memorized all the songs, “read” the books, and was Cinderella from the hem of her blue satin gown to the sparkly tiara in her silky black hair.
And it was not just Disney Cinderella, though that was the most beloved. Ethnic versions from all over the globe piled up in the bookcase. Cinderella figurines multiplied underfoot. Lela would be so in character when gowned that she would only answer to “Cinderella.” I was cast as the Stepmother, Stepsisters, Fairy Godmother and the Prince, and got to waltz with the princess. The good news was that raggedy Cinderella, the pre-ball scullery maid, would wash floors. Sometimes it was fun, but living and breathing Cinderella can be wearing after a year or two.
I never had an issue with the princesses, despite growing up in the feminist movement of the 70’s. Perhaps it was the knowledge that loving dress up and fairy tales hadn’t stopped me from being who I wanted. There are always lessons to be gained and Cinderella is kind, generous, and loving despite hardship and does ultimately grab for her gold ring. Unlike when I was a child, there are now sequels – we get to find out what happened after the coach ride into the sunset – and the good news is that Cinderella gets a lot more backbone. I had more of an issue with the cost of the princesses’ multitudinous array of products and the consumerism it breeds.
But as she went to pre-k, gained more friends and grew, Cinderella began to wane, exchanged for other interests. One afternoon during the pre-dinner clean up, I was harassing her to put away the hoard of princess figurines strewn around the floor. She picked them up in reluctantly exaggerated slow-motion and dropped them in the bin, but when she got to Cinderella, held the figure up to her face, smiled, kissed the little plastic head and tenderly said, “Goodbye Cinderella” before placing her gently in the box. In that second I felt my heart squeeze with pain and love as I felt the world shift sideways by a tiny bit. My little girl was growing, changing, opening new doors, bidding farewell to a piece of her childhood with that kiss. A fragile snowflake of innocence had melted away in that instant. The pain of knowing that someday I might be the recipient of such a kiss as she headed out the door to save the world or down a flower decked aisle, again gowned as a princess to find her version of happily ever after.
Good bye Cinderella, I never knew that I would miss you.
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