During my middle school years, my mother made friends with an elderly French woman who lived down the street, Mrs. Chatson. I still remember her white pixie haircut, the delicious animal crackers she kept in a jar on the counter, and her incessant drilling of French vocab: Il somme, el somme, vous et . . . unfortunately, I never really picked up on the French. I was more interested in scoring animal crackers and studying the beautifully strange decor of her house.
Mrs. Chatson was so bold. I, a mousey child who thought asking for no mayo on my sandwich at McDonalds was a big deal, still remember the impact she had on me during The Happy Meal debacle. She had taken me and my siblings out for lunch one time, and McDonalds was running a Kung Fu Panda promo with their Happy Meals. My favorite animal at the time was a panda, but I got the snake in my Happy Meal. I mentioned my desire for a panda instead, and Mrs. Chatson marched right up to the counter and demanded they switch out my snake for a panda.
^^^ Lol I found the actual toy on Ebay
And . . . they did. It had never occurred to me that I could ask for something instead of just receiving what I was given.
Mrs. Chatson bequeathed me a beautiful hardcover copy of Hans Christian Anderson’s fairy tales, complete with a removable dust jacket.
I had scanned over the table of contents, thrilled to see The Little Mermaid. Like a good conservative Christian girl, I’d never been allowed to watch The Little Mermaid because she was scantily clothed in nothing but a purple seashell bra (although in the book, I’m pretty sure she wore nothing in the illustrations). I was shocked to see that, in the illustrations, this Little Mermaid had blonde hair instead of red. Surely this was not THE Little Mermaid?!
I found her story so depressing, but reflecting back on it I find myself in her.
The Little Mermaid wishes to go on dry land to find the prince whom she saved from a shipwreck. In the movie, she gives up her voice; in the book, she gives up her legs, being told it will feel like she’s walking on knives for the rest of her life. Ah, poor Little Mermaid. I’ve spent a lifetime of walking on knives and giving up my voice just to feel some semblance of love or acceptance.
To make matters worse, the prince doesn’t even end up with her. He flirts for a while, oh yes, but of course he ends up choosing a princess instead, acting like he has no choice in the matter.
The Little Mermaid sits by, watching sadly: his wedding is her funeral.
She’s even given the chance to become a mermaid again and extend her life by 300 years if she only kills the prince. But she can’t. She’s a martyr. She has codependency issues, preferring to suffer as a saint. Now, I’m certainly not condoning murder here—but I’m saying, there has to be a better alternative to us sufferers.
We must learn the difference between love and losing ourselves.
Choosing ourselves in the slightest would seem a sin, but we don’t always need to walk on knives to prove our worth.
Wallflower Garden 
Leave a comment