Duh, Mom.

There is a dybbuk in my house. It consumes my almost-four year old daughter. It makes her love all things pink, purple and glittery. And its name is Disney. Her father and I have tried to raise her well: we don’t have cable in the house; we limit her movie watching and are very selective about what media she consumes. Any yet, here it is. The Little Mermaid is her personal savior and she worships at the altar of Cinderella.

We didn’t have any Disney in the house until my sister moved in with us almost two years ago but she doesn’t get all the blame. We didn’t think a little bit would hurt. My own mother feeds the dybbuk with trips to Toys-R-Us when she comes for visits. We can’t blame commercials because we don’t watch them. Friends at pre-school? Cheap shot, really. It might not sting so badly if she worshipped Mulan or Belle, characters with some stinkin’ agency. But Ariel and Cinderella? Ariel looks like a porn star (I will never understand why she needs to be so stacked) and completely gives up her life to be with a boy who never for a moment offered to give up his cushy life to be with her. And Cinderella? Don’t get me started. What does she teach my daughter? Smile and never get grouchy, even when people treat you like complete crap. Keep taking and taking and taking the crap (still smiling) because eventually some boy will come and save you, if you wait long enough. Oy.

Many of our friends with older daughters assure us theirs also went through a princess stage and they got over it. My intellectual brain knows this to be true—after all, who doesn’t want to dress up in frills, tulle and sequins? Yet my emotional brain feels like a complete failure as feminist parent. My husband, who claims to be the real feminist in our relationship, is taking it personally. Super personally.

I knew one day it had pushed him over the edge when he went out to run some errands and he came home from our local library with a bag full of books. I could tell from just the covers exactly what he had said to the children’s librarian—books with strong female protagonists who kick ass. Many of the books were graphic novels and I immediately thought “She can’t handle those. She’s not even four yet.” Then I thought about our class—not sucking up here, I really really did—and thought if we don’t teach her how to read a graphic novel, who will? I was never introduced to graphic novels growing up and until very recently, I thought of them as comic books and a crappy alternative to ‘real’ books. I thought we’d try one but I had some serious doubts about her ability to comprehend them.

Boy, was I wrong. We started with Babymouse: Queen of the World by Jennifer Holm and Matthew Holm (Random House, 2005).

This delightful story (in black, white and lavendar only) has the protagonist, Babymouse, in a delicate position of wanting to be ‘in’ with Felicia Furrypaws and the popular kids but it may come with the cost of hurting her best friend, Wilson. It is evident this is a graphic novel aimed at a younger crowd—particularly girls—and I am so happy we started with this one. As I read the text to my daughter, I pointed to the frame it was in and we discussed what was happening. We moved on to the next frame, discussing the action and it was as such we moved through the book.

I am embarrassed I ever doubted my daughter’s ability to comprehend a graphic novel. She loved Babymouse right off and wanted to read the whole book before bed. Upon reflection, of course she likes graphic novels—they have so much more to look at than traditional picture books and are cinematic. Considering how much she loves to watch movies…duh, mom.

The first try was such a success, we moved it up a notch—to Magic Trixie and the Dragon by Jill Thompson (HarperCollins, 2009).

My husband thought this one would be a good foil to our daughter’s current infatuation with Tinker Bell. Magic Trixie is a little witch (this is not meant derogatorily) and so is learning how to do magic. She’s spunky and she’s got wild pink hair. Trixie sees a dragon at the circus and decides it would be the BEST pet ever. When she accidentally turns her baby sister into a dragon, it’s a dream come true. Her loyal black cat, Scratches, feels abandoned and leaves. Then Trixie loses her baby sister/dragon. Trixie realizes Scratches is the best bet and makes her mea culpa to him, finds her dragon and changes her back to a baby sister. Our daughter loved the illustrations and Trixie’s wardrobe. We like that Trixie realized her mistake at not appreciating her pet, Scratches.

The pièce de résistance of our graphic novel experiment with an almost-four year old is Rapunzel’s Revenge by Shannon and Dean Hale (Bloomsbury, 2008). This book is longer (144 pages) and meant for more of the middle school crowd (9-12 year olds) but we’re slogging through it. It is a feminist re-telling of the classic Rapunzel story—only set in the Wild West and Rapunzel rescues herself. She is smart, calls people out on their greediness and stands up for what is right. My husband and I couldn’t be happier with this heroine. Our daughter likes that Rapunzel can use her hair as a whip, moving her into more of a superhero genre. It gives me a whole new perspective on the catch phrase whip my hair.