Tradition

The Magic Orange Tree

Today's story is very rewarding because it demonstrates, as I had hoped, a number of connections to other topics and traditions I have come across in my fairy tale readings. The first thing I noticed about this story, as it is presented, is that it draws very palpably in its narrative style from the oral tradition in which it originated. The "Cric?" "Crac!" callback and group singing are familiar tropes of Caribbean storytelling, ones which I've only seen in film (and, if I'm remembering correctly, a film set in Martinique and not Haiti), but would love to be a part of in person. I love it when I can feel a speaker's voice in a written story. It serves as a reminder that these tales are quite older than the written word and indeed often flourish in cultures where writing is not at all common. The Grimms' stories often contain these little narrative indicators of a speaker as well, usually in sing-song rhymes or funny little jokes at the ends of stories. They seem odd in a written work, but happily remind us that words are meant to be spoken aloud. These stories work best when delivered by a practiced voice to an eager audience.

Another interesting comparison I found was in the commentary at the bottom of this story, which describes the practice of burying a child's umbilical cord with a fruit seed, and essentially giving the resultant fruit tree to the child. I read here (in a note to one of my favorite stories, The Girl With No Hands - incidentally, this is what inspired my brief obsession with pears in my paintings about a year ago) that a similar ritual was once common in Europe as well. The practice of allowing the child to use the tree for her own economic benefit seems unique to Haiti though, and implies a lot more self-reliance at an early age, a value that is upheld throughout today's story. I very much enjoy the tale of The Magic Orange Tree, and find its message of resilience and autonomous power much more appropriate and truthful when applied to real children, at least the ones I've met. I would say I'd be adding it to my repertoire for stories to tell at Lemberg, if not for that pesky recurring theme of killing evil step-parents. Somehow I don't think that would be well-received by the children, their parents, or my superiors.

Why

Today was not an easy day. It started when I read a Grimm fairy tale, The Strange Musician, that seemed to me yet another divisive, frivolous tale encouraging conflict over communication, an upsetting change from the Japanese stories I had been reading for a few days. I began debating with myself whether it was even worth it to keep reading the Grimms' stories, or whether all I would ever learn from them would be contrary to the lessons they seemed to be trying to teach. Unfortunately, with this minor conflict clouding my mind, I was later brought two very sobering pieces of news, the first being that a child at Lemberg had lost a family member in the Haitian earthquake (which, much to my dismay, I was just learning of this afternoon), and the second being that my paternal grandmother's health had gone into even further decline from its already precipitous state.

With such things hanging over my head, I naturally began to question the nature of the work that I'm doing with this blog. In times of great sorrow, do children's stories and folktales really have any place in our daily lives? Can I read silly fantasies with simple morals when events in the real world are so grave and require such immediate attention? The answer, of course, is yes, and this answer attests to the real, fundamental reason why these stories are important. Whether or not we agree with all of their messages, these are the stories that survive in our culture and have survived for ages, tying together often conflicting generations through common knowledge and belief. What's more, and particularly relevant now, is that these stories transcend cultural divisions, tying our world together as powerfully as mourning or grief. It is with this in mind that I will be reacting to this global tragedy in the only way I know how, by strengthening the bond with my fellow humans most affected by this tragedy and exploring the culture so hard hit by this disaster. In the coming days, weeks, and maybe even months, I'll be seeking out whatever recorded examples I can find of Haiti's rich folkloric tradition, through the internet and whatever books I can find. This will be an intermittent sub-project whose threads will weave together with everything else I seek to do in this blog, so please be on the lookout in future entries as I compile and read through my sources in order to integrate them with the rest of my materials. I urge you as well to reach out to those around you whose lives have been touched by the tragedy, in any way you see fit. Go with your heart and you will find the human soul that links us all. Thank you for reading, and please be safe.

The Very Prince of Badger Tea-Kettles

The story I read today, about a Tanuki that takes the form of a tea-kettle and befriends a poor merchant, is really one of the best stories out there. It's whimsical and funny and magical and comes with a neat little moral about treating people with respect and dignity (at least that's how I see it). I didn't really find a definitive version to match mine, but it seems to be a pretty well-known story, so look up bunbuku-chagama on your preferred search engine and you should come up with lots of nice things.

At first, when I read it, I thought it was pretty frivolous, but the more I thought about the message I was taking from it, the more I realized that this kind of thing is exactly what teachers at Lemberg spend so much time trying to teach young children. Treat everyone you meet with respect and kindness, and not only will they feel a lot better about it, but you will reap quite tangible rewards! I can't tell you how many screaming matches between three-year-olds are solved when I say something like "now, instead of grabbing the shovel, why don't you try asking for it?" So often people of all ages approach situations with hostility, greed, or fear, when a simple humility and openness would work wonders.

Another interesting social phenomenon that comes into play in this story is assumption. The silly old monks assumed that any weird badger living in their tea kettle was something evil, but the poor merchant made no assumptions and asked the tanuki what he wanted. Discarding assumptions often helps a lot with kids, as they do things all the time that appear to have a certain disagreeable intent behind them, but are often quite innocent or harmless behaviors for the children, who don't understand the appearance of actions modeled for them by adults, older siblings, and media sources. My favorite example of this is when I saw a two-year old boy making gun shapes with his hand and saying "bang bang bang!" or something to that effect. Lord knows where he got that from, but I went ahead and asked him what they were. He said they were shooters. I asked him what they shot. He seemed at a loss at that point (obviously - two-year-olds don't know from bullets) so I volunteered a whimsical answer - marshmallows? He agreed, and we played a game where he shot pretend marshmallows from his fingers and I caught them in my mouth.

The wonderful thing about this is that sometimes older children will even recognize the faults of assumptions! One time at Lemberg, a group of three-year-olds wrote and illustrated a book together. Of course they were guided by teachers, but it was my understanding that they invented the plot all by themselves. In the story, a pair of friends named Bober and Fan went to the playground to play, but they were interrupted by a robot named Zober who would only let one person at a time into the playground. Bober and Fan thought about their options for a while, and eventually decided to ask Zober if he wanted to play with them instead of stopping people from getting into the playground. Zober agreed, and the three played together in harmony, proving that strangers really are just friends you haven't met yet. So please, the next time one of your household appliances becomes a talking badger, ask him if he'd like to join you for lunch. You will surely be pleasantly surprised.

Because I Said So

Mary's Child - AT Type 710

One of the issues I often find myself confronting in my work as a preschool teaching assistant is the nature of my power as an authority figure. It's an unsettling position, because I would like to believe that everyone in my role is there to be a positive influence on children, and not because they want to exert control over other people. I'm blessed to be working at Lemberg Children's Center, an environment that strongly echoes my personal feelings about how young children should be taught, socially and intellectually. Of course, after almost two years of working there, this is largely because the environment has shaped my values, but I can recall being very comfortable there from the start and never feeling as though I was supporting an unhealthy system. One of the most fundamental aspects of this system is that all rules are in place for very important reasons - to protect the health and safety of our children and staff, to encourage a cooperative community based on mutual respect and care, and to maintain the safety and integrity of our shared property and space.

I think things have changed a bit since the olden days, don't you? In Mary's Child, we see the same sort of "don't do it because I said so" message that comes up time and time again in fairy tales. Let the kid see the Holy Trinity, why don't you? I hate to criticize the Virgin Mary on her child-rearing practices, but it basically seems like she's giving the child a rule just so she can punish her when she breaks it. I've found that when dealing with anyone above the age of 2, one's best bet when seeking obedience is to actually explain to the child why you're asking them to do something. Well, OK, sometimes you need to tell them you're going to count how many seconds it takes them to put their blankets in their cubbies, and promise you're going to start from Negative Zero. And sometimes you're better off asking them how many feet they have and then indulging them and counting both of their feet repeatedly all the way up to one hundred when that's the answer they give (this method, by the way, is for getting shoes on). But that's beside the point. If you're asking a child to do something, and you can't come up with a better answer than "because I said so," then why are you saying so?