When I was about two years old, I received a fantastically illustrated collection of fairy tales from a great aunt.

No one in my family seems to recall the book title and with all the moves my family has made, it’s been lost along the way. The only thing that remains is my memory. I distinctly recall paging through the heavy, hardcover book with my pudgy, baby fingers so many time that the pages became dog-eared and soft around the edges.

The fairy tales in the collection where somewhat ‘alternative’ you could say. They included The Headless Horseman and The Frog Prince, among popular classics such as Sleeping Beauty, Alice in Wonderland and Little Red Riding Hood.

One of my most treasured Christmas memories is sitting on my grandfather’s lap, in front of the fireplace, at my grandparent’s home and pretending to read each story to my grandpa. Having asked many willing participants to read me each fairy tale over and over again, I had memorized the gist of each story. I remember being so proud of myself, saying something to the effect of, “See grandpa, I told you I could read.” And of course, him proudly beaming at my very advanced skills.