Children’s stories can be really dark. Like, a lot darker than I remember. I just managed to pick up a free copy of ‘The Iron, the Switch and the Floor Robe’ on my e-reader, and it’s like…yeah, I get that it’s the classic tale of an innocent little girl who tries to do some ironing to help out her mum but end up dropping the iron because it’s too heavy, right on top of a dressing robe that was lying on the floor, and then she forgets to turn the iron off at the switch and their lovely cottage burns down. It’s a classic, magical tale. But SO dark, especially since it’s for kids. Apparently.
I can see why my Mum had a ban list that she made us memorize. And it’s also probably why we spent so much time at that old indoor play centre down in Happy Valley. The place was as wholesome and lovely as it gets: all painted with bright colours and cartoon animals that don’t belong to any particular franchise so that no one could be tempted to read anything they shouldn’t. It got us away from the TV (Dad wouldn’t let her get rid of it, even if she seriously wanted to) and Mum was watching is the whole time to make sure our thoughts were filled with wholesome fun and not being tainted by the other kids.
I’m starting to think that Mum was a bit controlling, and that might have left some issues. I mean…we had a great time at the indoor play centre. Wasn’t their fault that our family was both a bit weird and there all the time. And I’ve read the whole ban list in my adulthood. They seem a little dark for kids, but that doesn’t mean that they would’ve damaged our little minds.
Maybe I don’t get it. I need to have my own kids before I understand, or something, that’s probably it. And I need to find a kids birthday party venue for hire in Happy Valley so they can play in a wholesome manner, free from the media.
Or they can have both, and I’ll just be discerning?