Many people who know me know that I hate the film Frozen. Hate is probably too strong a word here, but I’m going to use it anyway. “Let It Go” is the most annoying song I’ve heard in the last decade, and that’s coming from someone who listens to “Baby Shark” multiple times a day. On top of that, it actually goes against the message of the film. After running away from her problems, Elsa finally decides she’s going to be herself and just “let it go.” In doing so, she unleashes an eternal winter on the kingdom, leading to a chain of events that ends with her sister Anna needing to sacrifice herself to save Elsa’s life. It’s this act of sacrifice that ultimately redeems Elsa. Letting yourself rely on those who love you is what saves you, the film seems to say, not the “I don’t care about anyone else and I’m just going to do me” message of the song.
But hey, I’m glad a gazillion kids all over the world know the song by heart.
(Insert your “Let it go, Elison” joke here. It’ll only be the millionth time I’ve heard it.)
One of my daughter’s Frozen contraband. Stop trying to look so innocent, Elsa!
Before Emmy was born, I told myself there would be no Frozen propaganda in the house – no clothes, no toys, nothing. I knew it was a strange thought to have, a tiny, inconsequential rebellion against conformity, the kind of thing so many of us do. Maybe you refuse to watch Game of Thrones or try out that new restaurant everyone is talking about or wear exercise clothes to work even though the dress code forbids it. We acquiesce so willingly to most social rules and norms that we must have some places in our identities that are separate from the hivemind and the world.
Emmy just turned three the other day and, despite my best attempts, has many Frozen merchandise in the house. There are the mini-figurines of Anna, Elsa, Sven, and Olaf. There are the Frozen-branded maracas and recorder which, amazingly, isn’t as bad as “Let it Go” even when Emmy is blowing it straight into my ear. There are the underpants, the sweater, the books, the stickers. They were all gifts for various birthdays and Christmases, so guilt prevented me from donating them to Goodwill. And Emmy likes them, so, I guess that’s that.
But here’s the thing: Emmy doesn’t even like the movie. Whenever we turn Disney + on, and I ask what she wants to watch, she screams “Not Elsa, not Elsa!” as if Elsa snatched away her favorite balloon and popped it in her face. The first time Emmy yelled that, a surge of pride overcame me – that’s right, Emmy! Don’t like it just because you’re a girl and girls are supposed to like it – but that was quickly swallowed up by a wave of disgust. Did I do that? Did I force some weird value judgment/identity marker on my young child?
As it turns out, no. My mother showed Emmy the movie one time, and there was a scene early on that scared her, and she hasn’t wanted to watch it since then. But what if I had? Isn’t that what parents do? Isn’t that our main job? To pass on our beliefs, our values, our stories onto our progeny?
Or maybe our job is to not do that. At least not all the time.
When I talk to people now about anything – sports, social issues, work, whatever – I'm always thinking about what stories we’ve inherited. Stories about what it means to be a man or woman, black or white or brown, an American or a foreigner, a citizen or an immigrant, rich or poor, religious or atheist, carnivore or vegan, or all the shades and flavors in-between. So much of what we believe and thus, how we negotiate the world and other people, is based on stories we have inherited. But stories, while immensely powerful, are often not factual, especially as they pass down from generation to generation. It’s like the world’s longest game of Telephone, each retelling moving further and further from the truth while further entrenching us into beliefs about ourselves, others, and the world that we think are 100% true.
What results is confusion, frustration, misunderstanding. We have trouble relating to people’s experiences because they don’t fit the stories we’ve been told about how others should act or think or feel. We perform a bunch of mental exercises to justify the story (see my first paragraph), which then justifies the way we treat others, or even the way we treat ourselves. We need to be better about the stories we let ourselves believe and, for those of us who are parents, we need to be better about the stories we pass on.
Someday, maybe Emmy will decide she loves Frozen because Elsa eventually let her sister in, showing the value of familial love, or that Elsa learned to be herself and to never apologize for it. Or maybe she will simply love Frozen because Olaf is funny. I don’t know. What I do know is I hope I can be thoughtful about what I’m passing down to her, so that her life isn’t frozen in some outdated story, including the one about her Dad hating Frozen, but still wanting her to make up her own mind about that and, well, everything else.