It’s not that I don’t like animals, or babies, or sick people. I’m very fond of many in each category. But long before I had my own children, books or movies about bad things happening to babies, or animals, or baby animals caused me emotional trauma. Having to read “The Incredible Journey” in 4thand 6thgrade meant that I cried every time I saw a Siamese cat for the next ten years. And I had a Siamese cat. I was brought up without television and so never saw the likes of Bambi and Old Yeller, for which I am grateful.
Now that I have two children, and feel that my nerves and heart are actually wrapped around the outside of my body, these kinds of stories practically cause me to hyperventilate. I spend enough time imagining what terrible things could happen to my babies – the last thing I need is to have some of these things acted out for me on screen, in animal or human form. When my family watched March of the Penguins on DVD, which everyone insisted I had to see, I made it through the first ten minutes, until the Mommy and Daddy penguins lost the egg they were passing between them to protect it from freezing, and then I spent the rest of the movie sobbing in the bathtub. I have no hard exterior to protect me from the cold.
And that is why my husband will be talking my children to see African Cats.
