Stan Berenstain: 1923-2005
by Aemilia Scott
Stan Berenstain, the co-creator of the "Berenstain Bears" series of books, died last Saturday at the age of 82. It is hard to overstate the loss felt at his death. The passings of world-historical figures like Ronald Reagan and Pope John Paul II are always met with sadness and confusion at how these super-men could ever simply wink out of existence the way regular people do. People whose lives have such a far-reaching effect seem to move from humanity to super-humanity in the mind. But Stan Berenstain's death will do the same for those who knew his books, and not only because he brings adults back to their childhood. It is because for those of the right age, Berenstain did more than just affect lives; he created minds.
After the news of his death was released yesterday, an odd thing happened in my mind. Rather than being overcome with sadness at the loss, I was overcome by an incredible urge to not talk to strangers, and to clean my room regularly, and to be kind to my big brother. I received a post-facto message from Actual Factual Bear, making sure I remembered the difference between solids, liquids and gasses. I remembered that my dentist's appointment next week will not hurt a bit.
Stan Berenstain's family of bears taught me almost every important lesson I would need to know for adulthood. Hell, I even learned about the birds and the bees through a very-pregnant Mama Bear explaining to Baby Bear that he was going to have a sister. Solids, liquids and gasses; don't eat junk food; babies come from the union of man and woman. Check.
Among the generation of children growing up in the '70s and early '80s, The Berenstain Bears Books are spoken of like zen koans, or like biblical allegories. He was the pop Aesop. That little rhymed saying carved into the wooden sign on the first page of each book becomes, in adult life, the voice of reason in unreasonable times. The books have shaped a generation of morality, and they have shaped the way a generation receives morality. For Gen-Xers and Gen-Yers growing up in morally ambiguous times, those books may have been the only goddamn lessons of right and wrong that made any sense.
Stan Berenstain's books should be set on the shelf next to the writings of popes and kings. His lessons may not be as great as the great works, but his staple-bound books filled with craggily-drawn honey bears shaped the way many all-grown-up people think about their lives. If only the Constitution were a single rhyming sentence etched onto a wooden sign, then maybe Antonin Scalia would be out of the job. At least everyone would have good dental hygine.
Even though I was in complete control of my moral faculties before Stan Berenstain's death, now that he is gone I am a bit dumbstruck. When prose fails, maybe a saying of my own will do: words are strong as any creature; so a lesson can outlive its teacher.
E-mail Aemilia Scott at aemilia at gmail dot com.
