I remember my mom and I taking a class
together on storybook literature. Sadly,
I don’t recall the name of the instructor but he was of German descent and had
had exposure to cruel fairytales versus what he called “watered down” versions that seem traditional in America. I think there had been only four classes as we met only once a week for only
for four weeks – at least that is what I remember. I don’t know if I recorded anything about it
though Corey may have my mom’s version of what took place.
I remember our instructor showed us
several frames taken from a graphic story.
I don’t recall there being words, but if there were, he would translate
the German captions into English. The
story was on obedience and minding your elders.
Peter had been warned by several adults including mom, dad, and at least
one grandparent. They had told him not
to go outside for it was too cold and he would be able to dress warm enough,
but Peter went outside anyway. He walked
further and further away from his home and ignored all the signs of birds that
were too frozen over they could no longer fly, or other animals.
I believe that Peter ends up falling
through the ice. Some of the adults go
out to look for him and find him frozen. They take him back to the house to
thaw him out. In the last frame the
illustration shows three canisters. I
forget what was in the ones on either side – perhaps vinegar and cooking
oil. The container in the middle was
labled Peter – implying that Peter had thawed into liquid and that was the only
means they had for preserving what was left of him.
He had also showed us a book about Mr.
Thumbsucker who would cut off the thumbs of children who continued sucking
their thumbs. The idea was to motivate children to stop sucking their thumb but the pictures seemed quite gruesome. It wasn't just the stories themselves but also the illustrations that made the German versions seem much more dark than the American hand-me-down versions - which I am grateful for.
I remember enjoying fairytales as a
child. Then again, I think my mom was a lot more selective. I appreciate her introducing me to fairytales
as I know she didn’t like them when she was a child. Nor do I think she enjoyed them much as an adult. I don’t think the fairytales she grew up with
were as violent as our instructor’s had been. Also, my mom didn’t seem to have a great
imagination and wouldn’t believe that bears could talk or pigs could build
houses.
In our final class we were introduced
to an orange and were supposed to form a relationship with it. Our instructor said it was often a tender
moment for many of his students and when they were separated from their orange,
or saw another rip it apart, some would actually cry. Mom and I exchanged glances that we surely wouldn't be making that kind of attachment or would be able to relate to that analogy. I made a comment about two other students
I could see it happen with. And it did.
They cried. We didn’t roll our
eyes, but we didn’t feel the same attachment toward our oranges as they
apparently did.
It was an interesting class. I think mom and I both enjoyed it overall –
though I seem to be sharing the bizarre parts about it. It had been a good experience for my mom and
I to have this class in common and to share our experiences.
