Hail to Pippi

On this Independence Day, I salute Pippilotta Delicatessa Windowshade Mackrelmint Ephraimsdaughter Longstocking, my childhood hero. Pippi Longstocking, the adventurous, assertive, free-spirited creation of Swedish author Astrid Lindgren in the mid-1940s, was the source of many of my 1950’s girlhood dreams. Pippi was living my fantasy life while I sat home coloring between the lines.

The first movie adaptation of the Pippi Longstocking story was filmed in 1949. I saw my first Pippi movie in the mid-1950s, before I entered grammar school. Pippi wore long red braids that poked straight out, parallel to the ground; I had long black braids that snaked down my neck to my bony shoulders. She had red freckles all over her face; I was chocolate brown from head to toe. Pippi lived by herself, unfettered by parental constraints. Her closest companions were her monkey, Mr. Nelson, and her horse, Alfonso. I lived with a mother and father who maintain close supervision over their children. I had a black cat named Lightning.

Pippi could say anything, do anything, and defend herself against anybody. I had to spend my energy avoiding getting dirty; being careful never to say an unkind word about or to anybody; and making sure my face didn’t get stuck in that ugly, contorted expression my father teased me about when I cried.

Pippi cleaned the floor of her house by skating around on scrub brushes; she baked huge batches of cookies all by herself; and she could make messes without getting yelled at. She was strong enough to pick up her horse and carry him around, and she could beat up pirates. She was a little, crafty, carrot-top truant who could outsmart grown-ups and amaze little kids.

Adults could not suppress her; the educational system could not tame her; and terrorists could not scare her. Hail to Pippi, my earliest feminist beacon.