Of moms and storytelling
One of the most fairytale like aspects of motherhood is storytelling. It conjures up images of you in bed next to your little one, telling them stories of lands far far away. Or telling them stories of brave and strong heroes who ate their vegetables every day when it comes time for food. When I was a little girl, I had some trouble getting food down my throat. Ofcourse, my mom told me stories – nay – a single story every day (because that was the only story I wanted) to help food ease down my screaming throat. And what was that magical story – you might ask. Well here it goes….
One day, when Amma was in the bank (thats where she still works), a really really huge cockroach came in (yeah you heard it right – cockroach). The cockroach was so big that it was bigger than everyone. And it threatened to eat everyone in the bank. All bank people were very scared and did not know what to do. Just when the cockroach was about to eat someone, Clueless came into the bank with her gun (Yes, I had an air gun when I was 5 years old. You could put stones into it and it shot them out with a *plop* sound). Then, Clueless took her gun and shot the cockroach and it died. Everyone clapped. The End.
I still can’t understand for the life of me why I was so interested in cockroaches. I guess my mom did not analyse too much either – if the story worked and I ate peacefully, she had no complaints with my cockroach obsession. Today, we have become a little too obsessed with doing the politically correct things I guess. No one will willingly tell their kid a story of how they killed a cockroach with a gun. What if they grow up to be serial killers or something?
Entry filed under: Random Banter.