The ball of fire and I went to St. Louis this weekend. I needed some time with my nephew and he went to a Cardinal's ballgame with my parents.
On the way there (and back) he watched "Walt Disney's Peter Pan." When you've got nothing else to do through the endless stretch of I-70, you start analyzing things. Usually I think about people, my job, interactions I've had with others -- constantly reassessing what I said, was it rude? etc.
But this trip, I started obsessing about Wendy Darling. Why the hell was she still in the nursery? The girl has boobs, she has to be at least 13 or 14, right? She's apparently a matriarchal figure for her brothers, and we know that she was supposed to fill the role of "mother" for the lost boys. And yet, she was JUST kicked out of the nursery? What the hell!?
If she grows up to have a sick fascination with young boys, who could blame her?
And what about Peter Pan? Or should we call him Peeping Pan. Sneaking outside her window so he can listen to stories ... about himself! Egotistical, maniacal bastard.
About half way home, I caught myself going over the Wendy/nursery scenario again and decided I needed to take drastic action. We immediately switched to "Charlotte's Web." There is nothing sinister or untoward about a spelling spider or talking pig.
Thank God for the iPod.
2 comments:
It's best not to think too much about children's literature -- especially the older stuff -- since about 99% comes out of some very disturbed individuals. JM Barrie is no exception.
Those were some crazy times, those Victorian days.
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