Bear With Me!

© 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆

Once upon a time or was it a long long time ago, deep near a Midwestern forest in a little village with spotty cell phone service, only dial-up internet connection and in a state of questionable blue shopping laws, lived four bears: Papa Bear, Mama Bear, Little Bear, and Baby Bear.

Baby Bear had been named so by Little Bear himself when she arrived two years after him. He’d had stood thoughtfully beside her crib, pondering about the inadequacy of tale of The Three Bears in this new family situation. After a little noodling, Little Bear weighed in. “She’s a baby. She’s a bear. Baby Bear.” Everyone agreed to this flawless logic and went along. Only later she was renamed by Little Bear after Cindy Lou Who, who was not more than two.

Papa Bear, although he was a loyal fan of another franchise, also followed Da Bears, another hapless NFL team in those days. Sundays in the forest were sacred: watching semi-naked fans on TV cavorting around in sub-freezing weather wearing face paint and sporting beer can hats. He was content growling at the TV from his living room, and insisting that these teams would definitely turn it around this season. Definitely. Mama Bear, on the other paw had given up on these gems, but was dazzled by the whole De Beers marketing campaign. She didn’t care much about diamonds for herself, well, maybe one or two baubles wouldn't be so bad, now, would it? But she loved their slogan. “A diamond is forever...” she’d sigh dreamily, while Papa Bear would mutter, “So is a bad offensive line.”

Little Bear was the practical one. He would read Instruction Manuals. He sorted Recycling. He named Siblings. He made Plans. He created and enforced Schedules. He loved Calendars. Baby Bear was in awe of her brother's skills. Apparently, at some point unbeknownst to Mama & Papa Bear, he had warned Baby Bear that he would write a note to her pre-school teacher about some infraction which immediately caused her to fall in line.

Together the Bears lived in a beary quiet, mostly peaceful Midwestern bear patch. One routine that they followed rigorously - Papa & Mama Bear read multiple bedtime stories to their little bears every evening before going off to sleep. Near the top of their "most requested" list was the adapted old tale, now called The Four Bears and Goldilocks, the numerical enhancement being just right for the Bear family.

It followed the classic plot. A brazen home invasion by a juvenile delinquent of female persuasion. Disdainful sniffing and causal tasting the bowls of steaming Porridge. Disrespectful playing of a game of Musical Chairs. Careless ruffling of every carefully made Cozy Beds in the bedrooms. Until her morning snooze was disrupted by the rightful owner of the aforementioned bed, followed by her narrow escape out the window. No one knows if Ms. Goldilocks ever really faced the consequences of her nefarious actions, now, did she? In the olden days, it would have meant a paddling on the bottom, as Baby Bear had learned, thanking her own lucky stars, absorbing it all with big round eyes. Mulling things over. She had questions about such egregious behaviors. Many questions but she stayed quiet. Until one day... now old enough to ask dangerous questions, she blurted our mid-story, “Wait!” 

Everyone froze. “Isn’t this… did no one teach this naughty girl... stranger danger?" Baby Bear had yet to learn the phrase "breaking and entering.” Or "Trespassing." "Cloture" would come much much later. But she was morally outraged. Her sense of justice and fair play was perturbed, limited vocabulary notwithstanding. She was quite puzzled. She had detected there was crime in progress before anyone else that day. A veteran observer of many a playground shenanigans and casual larceny by now, she mused out loud “Who is this girl... going into a stranger's house? Trying on stuff that didn’t belong to her? Eating their food without thinking that the family would go hungry?”

Mama Bear blinked. Papa Bear slowly lowered his foam claw with a proud grin. “That,” Baby Bear was shaking her head, “is not a thing something good children are supposed to do." She stared at Mama & Papa Bear, with an accusatory look, "Mrs. Lynn and Mrs. Lane at pre-school said so! Even you guys told me that.” And there she was, later that day, found humming The Three Bears Rap thoughtfully: One day, Goldilocks was walking in the woods, You could tell by her looks, she was up to no good… 

That wasn't the end. Oh, no? Oh, no! Baby Bear unleashed a barrage of questions like a dam that burst. “So!” she said, hands on hips, which reminded Papa Bear of a strikingly similar posture he had encountered earlier, “Who made this...  porridge? What is this thing... porridge anyway? Is this the same one as in "peas porridge hot, cold, in the pot" that was "nine days old"? When was it really cooked? Why were the three bowls from the same pot at different temperatures? I don't want any of this porridge, thank you! And who goes out for a walk but not lock their front door? Where were Goldilocks' folks? Why wasn't she in school? What was she thinking?”

Mama Bear tried her usual parenting move. “Because I said so.” Baby Bear stared defiantly. “nuh uh.” (loosely translated, "this makes no sense."). That was the ominous start. From that point on, all the rest of the fairy tales that followed were scrutinized by the Baby Bear brains working overtime. 

Among other classics, Tales of Peter Rabbit was their favorite. This determined young reviewer expressed very strong views on the characters, the phrasing and the story arc as it unfolded. Ms. Beatrix Potter had introduced Peter's cutesy bunny sisters Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail early in the story. They were all declared to be silly, goody-two-shoes, total sissies. No self-respecting Baby Bears would ever want to be friends with them. 

Peter, the rogue wanderer with his daredevil adventures in dangerous neighborhood gardens was clearly her hero. She fully sympathized with someone who had lost his beautiful blue jacket with brass buttons and his new shoes during a tense chase sequence. Having lost her own socks and mittens quite recently, she felt instant kinship. Baby Bear declared solemnly, "I don't like that meanie, old Farmer McGregor. Or his wife." As the story said something like following some accident, "Mrs. McGregor made a rabbit stew" with Peter's dad. Such obtuse sentences made no sense. Why would Peter's dad, presumably a rabbit himself, be a collaborator in the Farmer McGregor's kitchen for such a ghastly concoction? It sounded weird. Something was clearly amiss. 

All these stories were very confusing. Like why wouldn't all Three Little Pigs live together in a big sturdy house made of bricks instead of flimsy little straw and stick homes, what with that The Big Bad Wolf huffing and puffing in the neighborhood? They did find out quickly that the hair on their chinny chin chin was not much of a protection. Or this boy Jack who traded his family cow for some magic beans. Baby Bear did not know any friends in her pre-school class who ever owned a family cow. She had checked with a few. So the premise of that story seemed quite flimsy to start with, she mused. Talking wild animals menacing peaceful piglets she had met in the petting zoo. Mean ogres chasing unruly boys, whether they deserved it or not. Witchy step-mothers. Talking mirrors. All the stories suspiciously ended with some ominous warning and arbitrary adult rules disguised as what sounded like... mural of the story?

Christmastime was near. Baby Bear suspected that she might have a prominent place on The Naughty List. She was not happy about it. Quite annoyed. This Ho Ho Ho'ing dude with clothes that smelled like mothballs was getting on her nerves... Baby Bear had questions. Many questions. Didn't he employ child-labor in his workshop? And he ignored the other stupid little reindeers to even though they didn't play nice? No time-outs, no being sent to their caves, just letting them be mean to a fellow reindeer just because he had a... different color nose? This fat man was supposed to be nice and jolly but... he actually spied on children? A conflicted Baby Bear was weighing her options on whether cookies, milk and carrots near the fireplace might swing some things in her favor... With vague memories of the previous Christmas and the appearance of an American Girl doll for herself and Thomas the Tank Engine stuff for Little Bear, she was willing to withhold her skepticism. However, after being reminded too many times about being good, she snapped back, "I am going to put Santa on my Naughty List."

She next challenged Papa & Mama Bears on rule enforcements, starting with her forest curfew being earlier than Little Bear's. "Why?" She would often declare, “I’m going to check with Little Bear.” Papa Bear scoffed. “You think Little Bear knows more than Papa Bear?” He looked at Baby Bear. Baby Bear stared back and answered with a very firm north-and-south head shake, with absolute confidence, “Uh, huh.”  Papa Bear sighed. Mama Bear smiled. Little Bear beamed. 

That evening at dinnertime, the food on their table was served, just off the stove. The Bears decided to go for a short walk around the block to let their dinner cool down. So that it would be just right. Not too hot. Not too cold. But they definitely locked their front doors. No more uninvited guests. No more home invasions, thank you very much, declared the budding Future Champion of The Underdogs. Oh, yes. Oh, Yes!