The Endless TV Debate
By: Christina Baglivi Tinglof
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| When I arrived to pick up my boys from a friend's house around the block, they weren't outside playing with the rest of the kids. "They're upstairs," explained my neighbor, Jeannie, as she opened her front door to let me in. "Upstairs?" She shrugged her shoulders, "They wanted to watch Hey, Arnold—The Movie." |
| I walked to the stairs and called up. "Hey guys, it's time to go." My son Mark appeared at the landing, sheer panic on his face. "But Mom," he shrieked. "We're watching a movie!" "Sorry, Mark. We've got to go." |
| "Pleeeeeeeeeease," he wailed, hands clasped together in a fervent prayer. "It's almost over!" came the voice of my other son, Jeff. (He didn't even bother to make his plea in person for fear he would miss a plot point.) I smiled sheepishly at my neighbor standing by my side, obviously worrying that this was about to turn ugly. "Sorry, guys. I've got dinner on the stove. We have to go now." |
| Silence. "If you make me come up there…" I warned. No answer. These certainly aren't my boys, I thought as I climbed the stairs. But there they were in the dark, necks craned forward, completely involved in the action on the screen. "Mark! Jeff!" I snapped in my sternest parent voice. "Move!" |
| Still nothing. I marched to the remote and hit the off button. Instinctively they charged forward grabbing for it, but I caught each of them by the shoulders and turned to make a hasty exit. They weren't ready to give in without a fight, though. Mark held tightly to the door jam while Jeff shook his shoulders, violently trying to break free from my grasp. Jeannie stood at the foot of the stairs in helpless disbelief. I looked up and feigned a smile as if to say, "No problem; I've got this under control," but all the while felt completely powerless. Just then, Mark broke free and tried to run back in the room. I blocked him, and he dropped to the floor defeated, sobbing, and pounding the carpet with his fists. Jeff, meanwhile, stood by my side wailing, "But Mom! We want to watch! We want to watch!" The whole scene was just plain nasty. |
| I don't remember many details after that—I've since blocked them from my memory—but I somehow managed to get the kids down the stairs, out the door, and into the car. Yet no sooner had they buckled themselves in their seats than their moods brightened, "Can we have a snack when we get home?"
The TV spell had finally been broken. I'm sure my ranting and lecturing could be heard for blocks as I tore into them for their unacceptable (not to mention disrespectful) behavior. My punishment was swift and severe—no play dates for a month, and no television for a week. |
| I have always had a love-hate relationship when it comes to my kids and television. On the one hand, I thank God every day that I can quiet a room full of boisterous boys by just flipping on Nickelodeon, yet there has been more than one occasion when I have asked my guys to turn the set off only to be ignored until I snap and storm into the room spewing parental platitudes: "How many times do I have to ask? Start listening!" |
| Parents have been fighting the TV battle since before the days of Captain Kangaroo. In fact, when I was a teen, my mom had very strict rules about TV—absolutely none during the week. No exceptions. Ever. You'd think that I'd quickly adapt and study quietly in my room each evening as she had hoped. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Instead my sisters and I spent most of our evenings secretly plotting how we'd get to see the next episode of our favorite shows. On those rare occasions when our parents went out leaving us alone with the television, we felt like we had won the lottery. Someone would always have to stand watch, ready to give the signal, "They're home. Kill the set!" I promised myself then that I would never have such harsh rules when I became a parent. |
| Critics of the tube say it's nothing more than a high-tech baby-sitter. And that's bad? Who hasn't been home with the kids all day on a rainy afternoon burned out on building Popsicle stick houses, only to crave a bit of peace that TV so conveniently provides? And what parent hasn't been sick, too weak to move from bed, whose only opportunity to take a nap came when her son or daughter sat quietly watching a video? I could also argue that TV has actually taught my kids about phonics, science, racial acceptance, and even history by watching PBS, History Channel, Discovery Channel and other well-produced stations. |
| But I can also attest to TV's insidiousness. I don't like some of the language, or humorously disguised violence on some cartoons that "family" cable channels run. There's incessant advertising including the airing of commercials for R-rated films during day. But mostly I don't like the control that TV has on my children—that mind numbing look that they get in their eyes. |
| So what's the answer? "Kill your TV," as a famous bumper sticker would like us to do? Hardly. Television has been, and always will be a part of this household. I do try to control it, though, and dole out TV time much in the same way that I do candy and soda—all in moderation. I take a proactive role in the shows that they watch, too. (There are certainly several cartoons that are definite "no-nos" in our house.) And if they want to watch a new show, I decide once I've seen it. |
| As far as Mark and Jeff's punishment—it was tough, but they made it through the week without TV not much worse for wear. I, on the other hand, counted the hours until I could in good conscience turn the set back on. I'm only human. |
