It saddens me to know that LITTLE BLACK SAMBO has long been in the ranks of "the unfavorable". With great fondness, I remember "Sam And The Tigers" (the current politically correct way to refer to the book).
The story was written by Helen Bannerman, a British woman living in India... in India... where the children were black and tigers did abound. The children loved the stories and illustrations, written just for them in and about their culture. Can we not be trusted to appreciate these facts? Can we not be trusted to learn about other cultures, as they were then depicted with the imaginations of children in mind? Can we not be trusted to interpret the story as it applies to the universality of fleeting childhood, wherever one's heritage is derived from?
When timber tigers, aka chipmunks, return to our yard each spring, I summon up a Golden Book memory from my one-digit days. Upon arriving at my Gran's summer cottage, I exited the car to see a scurrying munk. With the story and graphics fresh in my mind, I exclaimed, "A tiger, a tiger." Hey, to a five-year-old....
My Dad was my reader, always acting out parts with emotional voices and deliberate facial expressions... I remember! I assure you that there were no negative racial connotations expressed in my young world. On the contrary, the fascination was derived from from Sam's being a beautiful kid, just like me. The fictitious adventure happened in his part of our vast world... a place to learn about... and my endless questions were always addressed by Dad. He just loved to repeat that "tiger story". It became his precious memory, as well. Sooooo, when I spotted this hungry little munk yesterday, I just couldn't resist a picture. Sure, he's just a rodent... but MJ had Ben, and I have Munk.
Furthermore, I loved Dad's Sunday-morning pancakes, and I wonder if even that fact had something to do with the 169 cakes devoured by Sambo, after the successful mastering of his challenging situation with the tigers. See what you think: (link) Sam
