Goldilocks: FRIEND OR FOE?

Like most people, I first heard the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears when I was a wee lass toddling around with my rancid diaper drooping to the floor. At the time, it struck me as a cute and whimsical tale: three bears with humanlike qualities, a cozy house in the forest, and an overly curious but well-meaning little girl with a penchant for pigtails. Throw in a few porridge references and some repetitive dialogue, and the story was a winner in my book. 

As I got older, of course, Goldilocks and the Three Bears faded into the dust of my mind's literary filing cabinet and became something of a sweet, innocent memory that brought back all the warm and fuzzy feelings of being read to as a child. Bye bye, bears. Goodbye, Goldilocks. 

Not so fast. 

A few months ago, I started working as a teacher’s aide in a special education preschool classroom. This is an interim job for me as I search for something more long-term, but it’s a relatively easy and rewarding way to make some money and avoid being completely sucked into the soul-crushing darkness of life as a recent graduate. 

For the past two weeks, the book of choice for the classroom has been— you guessed it— Goldilocks and the Three Bears. When the teacher pulled it out for the first time, I smiled to myself. “How sweet,” I thought. “This will be a heartwarming walk down memory lane and definitely not a disturbing insight into the criminal undertones of a beloved children’s story.” I settled into my munchkin-sized blue chair and listened intently as the story was read. 

It started out innocently enough. Aww, those three bears. How refreshing to see a tight-knit group of hairy mammals living together in perfect harmony. I don’t know about you, but nothing soothes my cold, dead heart quite like a colorful picture of domesticated ferocious beasts looking sharp and not-murderous in colonial era clothing. 

But as the book continued, I felt my stomach churn a bit. I started to realize that this book wasn’t quite as innocent as it had seemed in my younger days. I tried to push those thoughts aside. After all, if the Three Bears weren’t sacred, what was next? Would someone try to tell me that the Easter Bunny was a social construct and not an actual, living rodent man who frequented many of my romantic daydreams in the early 2000s? Get real. 

But the pages continued and so did the story. And suddenly, all at once, it hit me. I couldn’t deny it anymore. This story is a sham and a shame. It is slowly instilling our innocent children with immorality and criminality under the guise of fantasy and fairytale. So I, as a public servant by necessity and not by choice, must shine a spotlight on these atrocities.

First and foremost, I don’t know what Goldilocks’ parents were doing when she somehow managed to sneak out of her home unaccompanied— my hunch tells me they were online gambling— but they clearly weren’t paying much attention. We must not let Goldilocks’ matronly clothing choices and sweet, rosy cheeks distract us from the harsh reality that she is a underage runaway with no shortage of criminal intent. 

Goldilocks and the Three Bears is A STORY ABOUT HOME INVASION. I mean, the narrator seems more concerned about Goldilocks’ porridge temperature preference than the fact that she just broke into a private residence and started to snoop around. “Oh, but it doesn’t count as a real home invasion because she wasn’t armed!” you say. Okay, the story never says that she was packing heat, but it also doesn’t say that she wasn’t. Make no mistake: Goldilocks was trotting through the forest dreaming about getting legally emancipated from her parents when she saw a random-ass dwelling in the middle of nowhere. She saw an opportunity and she took it. Do you really think she was just there because she was tempted by the aroma of porridge? No one even really knows what porridge is! Is it oatmeal? Why not just call it oatmeal? WHY? 

Also, in what demented world is it normal to randomly sample bowls of food left out on a stranger’s counter? There are so many things wrong with Goldilocks’ decision to help herself to the Three Bears’ porridge. First and most distressing, it’s just gross. Like, no! With the exception of one time in college when I was a bit tipsy and shared a mac ’n cheese pizza with some rando on the street, I have never had the urge to consume or even touch the food of someone I don’t know. Risks: germs, germs, mouth herpes, poison, germs, saliva, and germs. Don’t try it, kids. 

Now, I’ve been pretty harsh on Goldilocks so far, but we should also acknowledge that the Three Bears certainly could have taken some additional steps toward home security. And by “some additional steps,” I mean “any steps at all.” They left their front door unlocked and decided it was a good idea to go out for a walk. Call me paranoid, but if I lived in a society where humanoid animals of prey were a real threat (even if I were one myself), I would make a point of keeping that house tightly secured at all times. 

I could go on and on— about the dangers of bed bugs when Goldilocks decided to test out each bear’s mattress, about the overwhelming weirdness of deeming it acceptable to lie in someone else’s bed in the first place, about the fact that the Three Bears never even pursued criminal charges against their golden-haired home intruder. But I’ll spare you. 

All I’m saying is this: the next time you think it’s a good idea read Goldilocks and The Three Bears to your beloved offspring, think again. If you’re not careful, you'll soon have a oatmeal-gobbling home intruder on your hands. Don't say I didn't warn you.