It's sad that the BBC is toning down Dennis the Menace for a

In the words of Simon Hoggart, we encounter a lamentation upon the reshaping of a once-bold figure: "It's sad that the BBC is toning down Dennis the Menace for a cartoon series. He is losing his weapons, catapult and peashooter, will no longer pick on Walter the Softy, and his ferocious grimace is to be replaced by a charming, boyish smile." Within these lines lies not merely a commentary on a children’s character, but a meditation on how society strips away its edges, smoothing roughness until what remains is but a shadow of what once was. For Dennis the Menace was not merely a boy with pranks; he was the embodiment of mischief, rebellion, and the wild spirit of childhood. To mute him is to dim a light that once taught us that even in chaos, there is truth.

In the days of old, storytellers never hesitated to show children the fullness of human nature—heroes bore scars, villains roared with menace, and fools stumbled toward their fate. To remove the ferocity, the weapons, the grin of rebellion from Dennis is to offer a world where children are only permitted to smile sweetly, never to challenge, never to wrestle with the darker sparks that dance within their hearts. Yet, are we not all creatures of both light and shadow? To deny the one is to weaken the other. The ferocious grimace was not cruelty; it was honesty. It was a mirror showing that children, too, struggle with temper, with disobedience, with the wild fire of independence.

History shows us the peril of sanitizing truth. Recall how the ancient Greeks told of Achilles, whose wrath burned so brightly it shaped the fate of Troy. Imagine if some hand of censorship had stepped in and said, “Soften him. Smile instead of rage. Hide his spear.” Would the tale still thunder through the ages? Or consider the medieval ballads of Robin Hood, who defied authority with bow and wit. Would his legend endure if he were robbed of his arrows and made merely to wave politely to the Sheriff? Heroes and tricksters survive in memory not because they are tame, but because they dare.

Simon Hoggart’s sorrow reminds us that when we erase rebellion from art, we erase courage from memory. There was once a boy in the Soviet Union who read only state-approved books, stories where every character was obedient, cheerful, and safe. His imagination suffocated in that sterile garden, until one day, he smuggled a copy of “Tom Sawyer” into his room. There he found mischief, danger, the thrill of disobedience—and in that discovery, he found freedom. For it is in tales of defiance, however small, that young souls learn to question, to think, to dream beyond the walls erected for them.

To tone down Dennis is to declare that children cannot handle the fullness of life, that they must be wrapped in smiles and safe playthings. But what is childhood if not the time to wrestle with catapults and peashooters, to learn through error, to test the limits of their world? In stripping Dennis of his spirit, we do not protect children; we weaken them. A smile alone cannot teach resilience. A harmless prank teaches less than one that stings. Life will not always smile sweetly at them. To shield them from shadows is to make them blind when true darkness arrives.

The ancients would say: Let the child see both the grin and the grimace, for in both lies the lesson of being human. Just as the blacksmith tempers steel in fire, so too must imagination be tempered by both delight and defiance. Dennis the Menace, armed with his mischief and his menace, was not a danger to children, but a guide. He whispered: “You, too, may rebel, you too may laugh at rules, and in doing so, you may learn where the balance lies.”

And so the teaching stands before us: Do not rob the young of their shadows, for without shadow, there can be no depth to their light. Do not erase the weapons of imagination, for a catapult in the mind may one day build the courage to cast down tyranny. The lesson for us all is this—embrace the wildness, honor the menace, respect the rebel heart. For it is better to learn to master one’s catapult than to never know the strength of holding it at all.

Thus, let us carry forward the wisdom hidden in this lament: Do not fear the ferocious grimace. Fear instead the charming, empty smile that hides the truth of life. Teach the children to grin, but also to growl, and they will walk into the world with eyes open, hearts strong, and spirits unafraid.