Someone at Disney has some major daddy issues. Or an Oedipus complex, depending on the movie in question. I have reached this unsettling, yet widely apparent, conclusion after seeing the blockbuster smash hit Toy Story 3 this weekend.

The nuclear family (or even functioning one) is a phenomenon rarely witnessed in the animated classics of our childhoods. Stretching as far back as Sleeping Beauty, you can trace the anti-normal family trajectory through the years. Where were Beauty’s parents when she was waltzing around the kingdom, trying to avoid the dagger-piercing glare of her evil stepmother and munching on poison apples?

And the blonde-haired damsel is far from alone.

What about the poor Little Mermaid, whose mother apparently pulled a fast one on King Triton? No one warned her about the tantalizing temptation that would walk into her world on pantalooned legs. Bambi and Nemo’s mothers didn’t stand a chance, and the Lion King himself died halfway through his own movie; at least they were better off than Tarzan or Mowgli, both inexplicably parentless, who must have been immaculately conceived by the forests themselves. And there’s still no one who can tell me where Peter Pan came from.

The list goes on, as Disney character after Disney character find themselves in parentless predicaments.

Mulan was recruited into the Chinese Imperial Army as a child, following the tragic murder of her father — similarly, James relegated himself to a giant fruit with a cavalcade of talking insects following the untimely deaths of his parents. If the Disney writers were going for “relatable” with these plots, I’d hate to see the households in which they were raised.

Even Up’s young Russell, whose father couldn’t be bothered to pin on his Explorer’s Badge, reached out to some unsavory characters in his search for a father figure: an endangered bird with a soft-spot for junk food, a half-demented dog with a speaker box, and an old man who (along with his house) can defy the very laws of physics. Which is where Toy Story 3 makes its fantastically plastic and brand-name approved entrance into the long line of questionable family fables.

Andy’s father has shown neither hide nor hair throughout this trilogy; the vaguely named “mom” was left to raise two children and hold down a full-time job (and presumably, pay for Andy’s college) all on her own. Luckily, with playthings as loyal as Woody and Buzz, “father” seems like a foreign concept. Everything you need to know, you can learn from a cowboys-versus-Indians mentality.

The only other patriarch in this movie happens to be a Southern gentleman-type plush bear named Lotso (“Short for Lotso Hugs”), who throughout the course of the movie reveals himself to be nothing more than a bitter and cold-hearted villain (another favorite Disney theme for children). But it seems as though Andy has still managed to turn out OK, throwing it in the face of all those who proselytize the necessity of nuclear-family structures in growing up right.

Which leaves me to assume that the Disney screenwriters must have also written the theme song for the toys’ stories: “Just remember what your old man said, boy, you got a friend in me.” Sorry, kiddo; your old man fled the scene, and your friends are inanimate plastic objects onto which you superimpose alternate personalities. Maybe they’ll play ball with you tomorrow.