It dawned on my just a few months ago.
I was playing with my daughter at my parents’ house and came across my VERY well-loved Pocahontas Barbie, who has amazingly made it to today with all limbs intact, although her hair could use a good blowout.
Here is a picture of me, circa 1996 with my pet raccoon.
When Disney’s Pocahontas premiered just after my 8th birthday, I became obsessed. I watched the movie to the point I could recite every line, rewinding the VHS and replaying every song two or three times so I could belt along with the words (anyone?), and begged my mom to let me buy every action figure set, one by one from Pamida until I had finally collected them all. I had the Meeko stuffed raccoon. I created my own Pocahontas costume and drew her arm tattoo on myself countless times.
An important call-out I’d like to make is I understand this film is a gross misrepresentation of the life of the real Pocahontas, and I understand that this causes anger and possibly pain for descendants of the Powhatan tribe. I acknowledge this, and wish the story had a different name and was named after a truly fictional character. This…
