![]() Much later in the film, when Rafiki tells Simba his father is alive I felt vindicated I knew the hero wasn’t supposed to die. I empathized deeply with the lion cub living out my worst nightmare and I hoped that somehow Mufasa would be okay. He’ll become a star and watch over his family.” My mom looked up from her embroidery, “I think he is, Sofia, but don’t cry. Heroes never die.Īs a distraught Simba nudged his dad and pleaded for him to wake up, I began to cry, “He’s not dead right mom?" I imagined Simba would be able to call for help, that he would find a way to rescue his dad much to Scar’s dismay. When he plummeted into a stampede of wildebeests, I understood he would be badly hurt. I was hooked from the opening scene and Mufasa immediately reminded me of my father: respected by all, strong, and protective of his family. Sunlight poured in from the living room window. If I was particularly shaken up, I would gently poke my mom on her forearm, and without having to explain, she would make room for me to climb in beside her and would cuddle me back to sleep.Ī few years later, age seven, I sat cross-legged in front of the television and watched the Lion King for the first time. On most nights, this ritual provided me with enough relief to return to my room. I would tiptoe to my mom’s side of the bed, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness so I could confirm her abdomen was still rising and falling. Hearing my dad’s roaring snores made me smile, Daddy’s okay. The walls were alive with menacing shadows that inched closer as I walked by, with one hand tracing the hallway wall. Naturally, I had to check they were both still breathing. I would wake up in a cold sweat, my bangs matted to my forehead, having just witnessed the death of my parents. I suffered from reoccurring night-terrors as a child.
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