(contains spoilers!!)
I have come to realise that I have something of an aversion to tragedy in stories. I know deep down that these stories are the gourmet meal of art. And yet, when I sit down and choose a film or book to read in an evening, I’m not sure I want to put my heart through the wringer and so I often I opt for the takeaway snack instead.
Here’s a case in point. I have a tape sitting in my bedside draw that I’ve never played to my children. It’s an episode of Adventures in Odyssey. My kids love Odyssey, just as I did as a child, but this episode made me weep when I first heard it. I was beside myself. It tells the story of a girl called Karen who contracts cancer and eventually dies. Weaved throughout the episode is hope – hope of life and eternity. It is deeply moving (no cheap kiddie menu here). There’s a beauty to the story that’s almost too painful to repeat. But perhaps that’s the issue. I fear that it will be repeated one day; maybe even with one of my own children as the central character. Given this, why would I want to put my daughter and sons through the aching pain of this drama? Why would I cause them to cry? And so I haven’t played that episode to my children.
Enter ‘The Neverending Story’.