A Morality Reality Story - The Girl & The Mother

Little George and the Chery Tree - a children's story

Four different stories which indeed can be twisted and the end can be easily changed by the storyteller.

What if Pinocchio is not about a lying wooden doll but a doll that cares deeply about his old father he wants to find above anything, what if the fable about The Hare and The Tortoise is not about the hare but his slow unequal partner in the race and the moral is: being labelled as a loser doesn't mean you can't win!
Little George might have been "rewarded" by his dad but the average toddler already knows there's a very small chance that will happen. They know their adults very well including being reprimanded, ignored or spanked.
If it comes to the moral of (classic) tales it's about teaching a lesson about the results of bad behaviour. I doubt any parent over here would have told the story of George. To believe that bad behaviour, not obeying your parents and not paying attention to others' property remains unpunished is what we call 'a fairy tale' (meaning a lie).

It's easy to change the end of a story or focus on another character.
Like the fable of 'The Grasshopper and The Ant' which is about the artist the Grasshopper and not about a hardworking ant who treats the artist like a piece of dirt and let him die during the cold winter.

Through the centuries people changed and so did the interpretation, the moral of stories. One of the most impressive tales is "Den Lille Pige med Svovlstikkerne" (The Little Girl with the Matchsticks written by Hans Christian Andersen) which is about a little girl who had to sell matchsticks on Christmas day and wasn't allowed to come home before she sold each one of them.
She was out on the streets, it was getting later, colder, people ignored her, hurried home and she watched the rich dine at their Christmas tables, celebrating inside their warm houses. All she could do was sit down, she had no place to turn to. She decided to use the unsold matches to feel a bit warmer but nevertheless froze to death.

Is this story about a little girl dying alone on the streets, left in the cold on Christmas Eve, is it about finding peace in death or is the moral that people are heartless swines, and only care about what they have for dinner?
Another option is that this Danish writer wanted to make clear that Christmas is fake and not the celebration of love and the Christmas spirit does not exist.

It's a fact most of us won't open our houses, let alone our hearts, not even for a little girl in need. The citizens in this tale refused to give her food, a shelter, were not even willing to spend a cent to buy a match to make sure the little one dared to go home, a home worse than hell.
What the moral may be is up to the reader. For sure some will say: this story has a happy ending. She died, reached heaven, even met an angel as she lit the last match, that little one died happy, even had a smile on her face as she was found the next morning as the streets were wept clean. The bitter truth is she was just a piece of trash and no one shed a tear.

Her story ended and... here is where mine begins

It's up to the reader what the moral will be, positive or not.

It was just another day

she woke up shivering from the cold, it was early, 5:30 a.m. the beds were made, the breakfast table set, time to polish all those shoes the lady of the house had lined up in the hallway. It had to be spotless and shiny, without a single mistake if not, the queen behind the mirror would yell, and she had to start all over again and forget about breakfast. The clock was ticking, it was time for school, a five-minute walk, she ran but was still too late.

It is winter, it's cold, she suffers from chilblains. Her shoes are way too small and not suitable for the winter, nor is the coat, she finds it hard to move her fingers. During the break she observes a group of children, one shows how to make fire with a stone. How fascinating. She didn't know that was possible.

3:30 p.m. School is over, she hesitates to go home not knowing what to expect. If she is home she hopes she will be asleep, be in her bed on the second floor.
Carefully, she opens the kitchen door, listens, takes off her shoes and doesn't know what to do next. Is no one home, where is the housekeeper? Is it safe to visit the toilet and go upstairs to her bedroom?

The knot in her stomach is hard to ignore. Softly she creeps through the kitchen and flees into the toilet. How do you pee without making a sound and how do you flush without waking up the monster? The last obstacle is taking the stairs, avoiding those creaky steps, then down the hall to her bedroom. A room that is not safe, but there is no other place she can go without permission.

She screams, yells

the most terrible words the child had never heard. Startled in surprise the girl looks at the woman who is supposed to be her mother. She is dragged by her hair down the hall, downstairs, through the kitchen and thrown outside.
Get out! I will never let you in my house again, she shouts at the unwanted, hated child as she closes and locks the kitchen door from the inside.

It's cold and getting dark.
I will never let you in my house again!

Where can an unwanted child go that knows no one? The streets are deserted and the thick curtains cover the windows of the houses to protect those inside from the cold. No one can possibly see what is going on inside.
I will never let you in my house again! These aren't just empty words.

A mop of pulled-out hair falls from her shoulders as she shuffles barefoot into the narrow alley without a coat or hat to protect her from the cold.
I will never let you in my house again!

What was that terrible thing she had done? She could not remember having been disobedient.
I will never let you in my house again!

There are no abandoned sheds, the trees and shrubs had long since lost their leaves. There is no shelter except for her friend the darkness. The flint could she find one here? She searches the gravel path but finds nothing but a small red-white-blue, a lost marble.

Her icy feet step hesitantly onto the sidewalk. The way to school is not far but she is tired. It's hard to say if she still felt the cold.
Straight ahead past the row of houses with closed windows is the school but it will be closed.
People do not interfere with each other, each one of them has enough trouble to deal with. Someone else's bad child is none of their business.

Was it on impulse that she turned right and rang the doorbell at the house of a classmate, a girl she considered a friend even though she was not allowed to play with?
A light is turned on and the door swings open.
A brushed face, unkempt hair and dirty feet are no reason to leave the girl in terror outside. It is a voluptuous woman, so different from the beautiful person her mother is, who's wrapping her arms around the outcast. Perhaps she does not understand what the upset child stammers about, but she says: Don't worry, everything will be fine. Let's go to the kitchen and have a cup of tea.

That little girl, she knew that it wasn't true, nothing would turn out well, because of her this woman might even be in danger but no matter how bad her life would be she kept feeling that warm embrace of the elderly woman. A lady who showed her on a cold winter night that some doors will be opened if you knock and what a real mother feels like.

Ellen's mom I thank you. To me, you will always be the epitome of a real mother and a warm embrace.

About me

• Biography of @wakeupkitty

Fables

• My favourite Fable

• Not a Duck

The photos are mine 
Photogrid Canva
16-2-2024
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