- illustration by Katelan Foisy
That would be television. And I bet you
think I’m going to harsh out on television right now, making all the
normal people reading this feel like great big losers. Well, you’re
only half right. I would be the worst kind of hypocrite (is there any
other kind?) if I were to tell you that I never let Lulu near TV. How
else was I going to get her to eat her breakfast every morning while
I ran upstairs to get dressed? Lulu and I were Disney junkies. We didn’t
watch TV much, but we did watch videos: Dumbo, Bambi, Little Mermaid,
Jungle Book. We’d watch them over and over—we knew all the songs and
characters; it was great. The only problem is that Lulu still adores
television, movies, videos, and anything that doesn’t involve reading,
while I really can’t stand TV. Too bad it’s also my vocation. I hate
TV. I watch TV. I hate TV commercials; I write TV commercials. How
conflicted can a person be?
But wait, it gets worse! Once upon a time, I had Lulu in a Waldorf
school. She was four, and it was the best preschool on the planet,
as far as I was concerned. Her teachers were soft-spoken and gentle,
they wore skirts and floated around the classroom, made immense amounts
of eye contact, and sang to the kids if they did something wrong (not
exactly a staple form of discipline—I mean teaching—in our household).
All the toys in the classroom were handmade and exceptionally clever,
and the children created amazing arts and crafts, even learning to
sew, cook, and julienne vegetables. The teachers had wonderful harvest
and solstice festivals and gave the kids back rubs at naptime. It was
like a Baby Canyon Ranch, except with more tofu. I loved it. But the
Waldorf ethos concerning popular culture was intense, which I found
out the hard way.
At the first parent get-together, I came directly from work, wearing
high-heeled black boots and a black leather jacket. In that environment
of earth moms in Birkenstocks and boiled wool socks, I looked like
a Harley-Davidson hooker. Luckily, I was just in time for the conversation
about TV. As I said, I am hardly an advocate of television—just because
my career revolves around it doesn’t mean I’m not keenly aware of how
stupid, manipulative, and unrewarding a medium it can be. But these
people were out there.
Okay, I probably asked for it. I made the gargantuan mistake of asking
how other people coped with their children’s desire to watch TV since
I believed my stern rationing of TV time was actually causing Lulu
to value it more.
“It’s really simple,” one mom said, earnestly clasping the hand of her husband, who beamed proudly, nodding enthusiastically at me. “We just gave away our TV, and that’s it. We don’t have it, so we don’t watch it. And our three kids don’t even know who the Disney characters are!”
“That’s right!” piped up another father, bedecked in fleece and a
floral baby backpack. “We had a Turn It Off celebration and threw our
television in the dumpster. The kids knew just where we were coming
from!”
“In their hearts, they know they’re not really missing anything,” chimed
another recovering TV viewer with huge, sincere eyes and a dark braid
down her back. “I think they’re actually glad we’ve removed the temptation
to watch it.”
I was thinking about Lulu and envisioning her calm acceptance of the
end of TV in our lives. Somehow I couldn’t get there. And in fact,
I didn’t want to. Like it or not, television is our culture. And despite
the fact that I think television is an elixir that needs to be doled
out in small doses and with great care, I also believe that to deprive
yourself of it entirely is to take yourself out of the culture—and
isn’t that how that Guyana thing started? In the meeting, I slunk down
further and further in my seat as the helpful Waldorf crowd tried mightily
to aid in my redemption—but I was, after all, in advertising and wearing
animal products—and clearly, there was only so much they could do.
That was a defining moment for me. I knew I was never going to ban
TV in my house, but I also knew that I had to find my own way. Now
of course the American Academy of Pediatrics has come out pretty strongly
against TV—advising parents that no TV at all—is the way to go from
birth to age two.
My policy with TV is one of containment. I believe you can start right
now to get your child used to a little bit of television and also get
him used to the television being off. I believe in television as a
destination—watching a specific show or movie—not as an open buffet.
And I believe in certain inalienable rules, such as no TV on weekdays,
one hour of TV on weekend mornings, and lots and lots of outdoor time.
My kids grouse about it all the time, but they know the rules and at
least it’s not a constant negotiation.
So do whatever feels right with TV—but remember it doesn’t have to be an either/or situation. Don’t throw in the towel when you can just throw in a washcloth.
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“Rule #98: Turn It Off” is an excerpt from Londergan’s
2006 book I’m Too Sexy for My Volvo, Adams Media. She is married
to the president of Oglethorpe University in Atlanta, Georgia,
and has one daughter (Lulu, at left) and three stepchildren.
To learn more, or to buy the book, visit: |
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