Little Sisters and Tolkien

by MerryK


My little sister, a Tolkien fan already at age three, has long been convinced that she is Boromir. She even calls another brother “Uncle Immy” And yes, Immy is short for Imrahil; you ask how she knows that Imrahil is Boromir’s uncle? I truly have no idea. This is the same little sister, however, who, upon receiving a toy guinea pig for Christmas, promptly named it Elrond-Denethor.

However, after a viewing of ROTK (which she watched all the way through, amazingly), she suddenly decided to be Smeagol. After such good taste in her earlier choice of names, I naturally tried to dissuade her from choosing this.

“All right,” she said, after I explained that she should pick a good character. “I am Faramir.”

While very proud of her excellent taste, I thought that it might be wise to hint her towards picking a female character, as I had felt very strange when calling her Boromir. “Why don’t you be Rosie?” I asked sweetly. “You look like her.”

“No,” she responded. “I am Faramir.”

“You could be Eowyn,” I said, persisting. “She had blond hair like you.”

“No. I want to be Faramir.”

How could I resist such love for my beloved Faramir? I don’t know, but I could. “You could be Freda,” I added, drawing at straws and picking a movie-only character.

“I don’t know that,” she said.

“What?” I asked, marveling that the little girl who knew who Imrahil was could not remember a character from the movies. “Don’t you remember the little girl whose mother put her on the horse? ‘But Papa says Eothain must not ride Garulf, he is too big for him’” I quoted for her benefit. She gave me a blank stare.

“Remember? When Gandalf and Theoden saw the horse, and the little boy fell off, and Eowyn gave them soup and blankets? That little girl?”

“I didn’t watch that part,” she said, indignant that she might have missed something.

Since she had watched all of The Two Towers more than once, I tried to prompt her memory. “Yes, you saw that part. It was in TT. Remember the movie where Aragorn gets kissed by a horse?”

“I didn’t see that part!” she said.

“Remember when Haldir and the Elves come to Helm’s Deep?”

She shook her head and furrowed her brow, obviously believing there was some conspiracy that had hid these choice scenes from her viewing.

“Remember when Aragorn eats Eowyn’s soup?”

Again, a negative.

“Don’t you remember the movie with Treebeard?” I asked in desperation, realizing the inevitable futility of arguing with a three-year-old.

She shook her head, and I had no response but to wonder that she could have forgotten so quickly. Deciding to have a bit of fun, I asked again:

“Don’t you remember the part where Gollum bites Faramir’s toes?”

She began to shake her head, then laughed and said: “He didn’t do that!”

Glad that she had not forgotten everything, I laughed with her. “I was just kidding,” I said.

“I want to see that movie,” she finished, nodding firmly.

Well, could I deny such a request as that? “Later we can watch it,” I said.