Being McKenzie Prince ✔

Dear Diary

I remember one of the first stories that I heard that had an impact on my life. It was more like a short story I guess. It is referred to as a folk tale. There are many different versions told by different authors.

It is in fact really popular, it is called Little Red Riding Hood.

Little Red is told by her mother to take something to her grandmother's house. Her mother warns her to stay on the path and not to try and take a short cut through the woods. Naturally Little Red, like a typical teenager, did not listen to her mother.

To be honest I think her straying from the path has no real connection to the wolf eating her grandmother. How can the fact that she did not listen to her mother be the reason that the wolf decided to pretend to be her grandmother? It is possible that I am remembering it wrong.

So sue me.

I was around eight or seven.

Little Red shows up at her grandmother's house, while the wolf is lying in the bed and pretending to be her grandmother. As Little Red approached the classic conversation commences;

"Oh my sweet grandmother. Why are your ears so big?" Red asked curiously.

"The better to hear you my child..." The wolf was probably getting restless at this point waiting for the chance to pounce on the helpless Red and tear her to shreds.

"Oh grandmother. Why are your eyes so big?" Red moves closer probably starting to feel scared at this point. I mean honestly, has she never seen her grandmother before? How could she not recognize that this was an imposter?

"The better to see you with my dear" The wolf giggles softly. It would almost be impossible to control his laughter at this point.

"Oh gran. Why are your teeth so sharp?"

"The better to eat you with!!!!"

Bam!!!!

Wahahahahaha!

Evil laugh commences and the wolf eats poor Little Red.

The woodcutter walks passed and notices what has happened and cuts open the wolf for his pelt setting both Little Red and her grandmother free.

I have never really understood the message behind the story. What made sense to me in my life was that the wolf was not some stranger at all, it lived in my house and I knew it very well, it was my mother.

My mother manipulates people and even at such a young age I understood that.

A good example of how my mother works is last Christmas. She pretended to be a widow who had lost her husband in a boating accident.

She kept a close eye on this elderly couple. As she told them her sob story they felt extremely sorry for her as she explained in tears her heart-breaking story. In the end they gave her money. She used the money to buy drugs and alcohol for her and Goliath instead of buying food and other things that we actually needed.

Exactly like Ray all of those years ago my mother is an excellent liar. She could give Pinocchio some lessons on how to get away with lying. She could make Michael Jackson believe that he was Barney if that is what she wanted.

My mother could be called beautiful I guess. She has long blonde hair and her eyes are dark blue. Unfortunately a lot of her beauty has fallen away because of the drugs and alcohol.

I saw a picture of my mother and father hidden in her closet once. They looked really happy. They stood close to each other and both of them had these big genuine smiles on their faces. It looked like someone had told a really funny joke when the picture was taken. My father looked handsome in the picture and my mother looked beautiful and innocent. I think they were about fifteen when the picture was taken.

Have you ever noticed how people change from the people that they are in photos? In most of the previous pictures of my mother and father they look sincerely happy, but still my father became an alcoholic and my mother ended up where she is now.

I don't necessarily believe all of those old legends and myths, but there is one that actually makes sense to me. I heard somewhere once, I cannot remember where, that the old Native Americans did not want anyone to take their pictures because they believed that a part of their soul would be stolen, that it would somehow endanger it.

Maybe that is what happened to my parents.

Maybe a part of my mom and dad's souls were stolen with every photo that was taken of them over time.

It is as if though my parent's happiness and joy were stolen from them.