A younger sister’s revenge. In two scenes

Scene 1. Early-to-mid 1960’s.
There is a special TV program tonight. Cinderella. I am excited, I want to watch. Oldest brother talks of changing the channel. Mom, Mom, he won’t do that, will he? We’ll still watch it, won’t we? Yes. We watch. But when Cinderella sings, or the Fairy Godmother sings, “Impossible! For a strange yellow pumpkin to become a golden stagecoach” both older brothers snort with disgust and then break out in scathing mimicry. “La la la! Nyeah Nyeah nyeah!” they chant in treble falsetto. Be QUIet, I say. But they will not. At least we didn’t change the channel.

Scene 2. 2004.
Oldest brother’s three-year-old daughter was given a videotape of Cinderella from Grandma. She watches it, rapt. In the fashion of three-year-olds: Over and over and over and over again. (My inner five-year-old gloats.)

(I saw part of the movie in 2004, when my brother’s family—and movie—came out to California to visit Grandma and Grandpa. The heroine is dressed in bright orange. The colors are so bright. Is this that movie? It’s only when I hear her sing that I can merge the saturated oranges on the TV before me with with the black and white movie in my head.)