Fairy tales are a part of all children's lives.
Teachers and parents spend hours reading those weird little stories and playing those eerie movies. And kids just love them. They can't get enough of those creepy princesses, surrounded by forests full of beauties, beasts, dwarfs and witches.
I had thought they'd quit haunting me, tormenting me, once I passed beyond kindergarten. But oh no, fairy tales are omnipresent, always lurking behind some corner.
First, I had to deal with the popularity of Disney movies, which are pretty much the scariest things ever made. And then I started baby-sitting, which, of course, is a world ruled by Grimm and Anderson and anyone else whose profession was that of scaring innocent little kids.
One time, while taking care of some little four-year-old, I was forced into watching my absolute least favorite, "Thumbelina," the story of a weird little girl the size of a thumb who magically grew out of a flower. Needless to say, I ended up in tears and regressed fully to a childish state of utter terror.
Thus, since that horrible night, I've done my very best to stay away from such phenomena: tales, myths, animated movies, the whole bunch.
Until this summer. This, this thing, this "sophomore summer" is one big giant myth, a big, life-sized fairy tale. And I'm caught in the middle of it.
I've sort of begun to get used to people talking about how this is destined to be the best summer of their lives, something beyond all else. It's the myth -- passed down generation after generation -- of the great sophomore summer. Though the versions vary quite a bit, they're all about the same.
We've all heard it and we'll all share it. But it's a myth nonetheless. I mean, we're at school -- school! -- in the summer. Of course we need something, some amazing tale to make it seem worth it.
I entered this mythological universe as a Thumbelina-esque little girl, creeping into my classes on the first day ready to brave a new world. And, indeed, it was the world of a fairy tale.
Thumbelina ended up living in the shell of a walnut, trapped on a floating lily pad. I ended up in a lab science.
Thumbelina was attacked by some nasty frog that wouldn't leave her alone. I ended up sitting behind some guy whose deliberate decision to not pay attention in class drove me nuts to the point of intense anxiety. (I mean, really, if you're just going to sit around, why not do it outside or in front of the TV?)
Thumbelina got stuck with a snotty little mole, a blind mole. And I got stuck near one of those kids that likes to interrupt lectures just to interject some semi-related, out of control anecdote.
And of course, good fairy tales and myths should all include some sort of band of something. The mythic hero needs to confront a big scary group, leading to a dramatic end of the tale. That's when I found the band of poets, the class of mythic drama and intensity.
Bizarrely enough, my moment of crisis and drama occurred purely because of myths themselves. It was indeed a very surreal moment in which my mythic characters tormented me with talk of their peers.
I didn't realize what a big mistake it was to admit that I didn't know the story of Charon, the aged boatman who carried the mythic Greeks to the land of the dead. If I had known that my basic fear of all things mythic had contributed to my quite obviously lacking collection of knowledge, I never would have said a word.
But I did, and the consequences were horrifying. Like gnomes or dwarfs or blind animals or whatever attacking a shy, probably thumb-sized girl, this band of poets tore me apart in seconds.
"Didn't you ever read Edith Hamilton's 'Mythology'?" they shouted. "Every educated person needs to know mythology!" they yelled. Some snickered. Some raised their noses. All were appalled (except maybe for the girl who later admitted she thought Charon was probably another spelling for Sharon " I liked her).
As I curled into my little corner of the table, wishing that my mommy could close the book or that I could turn off the video, I learned how much more terrifying fairy tales are when you've actually entered one. And I didn't think it could ever get worse than "Thumbelina."
Needless to say, the mythic momentum took a dive after that. I regressed to a life of comforting naps and teddy bears, and I even found a friend who orders milk and cookies at Collis.
And I've decided to escape the mythic world of sophomore summer " I'm done participating in the magic and wonder. I'll just sit back and watch, or I'll sit outside with a book: Edith Hamilton's "Mythology," of course.
