My granddaughter Ella, who is pushing six, is here for a brief visit. Yesterday, after catching four salamanders, kicking the soccer ball, planting the yellow snap beans, and running in exuberant circles, she asked me to tell her a story. I'll report only the gist of my long, detailed, but uninspired narrative.
A young princess is born with a birthmark on her back in the shape of a red heart. Her parents consult a wizard, who tells them that their daughter is destined to marry a powerful, handsome prince. The parents are elated and the princess grows up with the guarantee of a blissful marriage. However, one day, when the princess is in high school and trying out for the swimming team, one of her friends notices the birthmark and asks her why she has a birthmark on her back in the shape of a diamond. "A diamond?" says the princess. She consults the wizard who tells her that she's not going to marry a prince after all; instead, she's going to have to carve out her own career. She'll have to study her French, take her piano lessons seriously, learn arithmetic and work very hard in school. So the princess takes the advice and becomes a very diligent and hard-working young girl and has many successes.
I was now putting myself to sleep with this highly moral and improbable tale, so I asked Ella whether she would finish the story. "Sure," she said, " one day the diamond turned back into a heart and she married the prince and lived happily ever after."
So much for contemporary, enlightened fairy tales.
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