Chapter Twelve: Children's Television​​​

 

     With Alma at work, Nickelodeon and Disney became my new best friends. Both stations were filled with shows guaranteed to distract my children while I developed a web project, performed household tasks, or worked my way through meal preparation. Whenever I needed some time for myself, these channels were there to save me. Shortly after Emily was born, I asked my mom how she survived without them.

 

     “You mean in the ancient Stone Age days when there were only one hundred cable channels instead of the current two thousand?  If I needed free time, I just yelled at you or your sister for whatever misdeeds the two of you happened to fall into that week. Then I would send you to your rooms and finish whatever I had to get done that day.”

 

     “That’s almost pathological. You pretended to get mad at us just to get stuff done?  Does Jean know about this?”

 

     “She figured it out. You forget, her kids are older than Emily and Jack. You’ll get with the program faster than you think.”

 

     She was right. I moved to the dark side much more quickly than I would have ever thought imaginable.

 

     It started with my work. Faced with a sudden influx of consulting projects, I plopped both of my kids in front of our TV while I sat with my laptop at our nearby dining room table. What could go wrong?  The kids were laughing; there was no wrestling or nearby toys to be used as weapons. Then I walked into the TV room to see what they were watching.

 

     It was SpongeBob. After my initial day at home, I usually managed to escape Bikini Bottom after five minutes or less. Craving a break from work, today I decided to watch another full episode.

 

     My first time with the talking sponge, I annoyed my kids with endless questions. Being a dad, today I asked even more. Emily and Jack did their best.

 

     “Why doesn’t SpongeBob’s pineapple house decay under the sea?”

 

     My daughter had given this issue a disturbing amount of thought. “Remember you taught us about chemicals and fires underwater?  SpongeBob probably coated his house with different chemicals. I asked my friend Tammy, and she said chemicals could do almost anything.”

 

     I needed to watch Tammy more closely the next time she came over. Still, I had more questions.

 

     “Why does Mr. Krabs think his pool is empty? Wouldn’t it always be filled since they’re underwater?”

 

     I didn’t even get a response on this one, just a disdainful look from my son and daughter.

 

     Questions aside, the episode was fascinating, almost as good as the cartoons that played when I was a kid. There was the Krusty Krab, an undersea fast-food joint that sold Krabby patties. Anticipating my question, Emily reiterated what she had told me the first time I watched the show – the Krabby meat was delivered by Amazon.   Thoughts of cannibalism no longer running through my head, I felt disturbingly relieved. Then I saw the squirrel.

 

     I wasn’t sure how she got there – perhaps some squirrel version of a student abroad program. Regardless of her arrival, Sandy Cheeks was now SpongeBob’s girlfriend. Aside from her ever-present diving suit, it was a situation that presented all sorts of practical issues. Like Alma and me, Sandy was SpongeBob’s more logical half, an undersea Hermione to SpongeBob’s Harry Potter - an interesting idea since a wand-wielding SpongeBob would surely rain hellfire on the poor residents of Bikini Bottom. With that thought in mind, I couldn’t resist – I began watching an episode of SpongeBob every day with the kids after breakfast.

 

     While initially entranced, after my tenth episode I grew tired of SpongeBob, Sandy, and their pals. At my urging, the kids moved onto the more challenging children’s TV fare - shows like the Loud House and Double Dare soon finding their way onto our TV. I was able to find time for my consulting projects between episodes, but something was still missing.

 

     While I contemplated just what that was, my increasing presence in front of our TV began to draw notice, first with the kids and eventually from my wife. Even Homer was looking at me funny, and this from an animal whose idea of entertainment involved nosing around our backyard for any item that smelled appropriately putrid.

 

     I told myself I was being nostalgic, remembering my youth viewing very different cartoons. It was then I realized what I had was missing. I had watched my children’s TV shows, but they had never seen mine. I would introduce my children to the cartoons and movies of my youth. That would wean the kids off their SpongeBob fix, and I could get back to the website work that was supposed to be my livelihood.    

 

     God only knows why, but I started with Bambi, a movie that seemed ancient even when I was young. That being said, Bambi was my very first Disney movie, and I resolved to watch it with my children. Beyond remembering it had something to do with a deer, I had forgotten almost every other detail from the film.

 

     I was doomed as soon as the rifle went off. Emily was horrified, and Jack wasn’t far behind.

 

     Between tears, he asked, “What happened to Bambi’s momma?”

 

     Before I could think of a response, Emily answered for me, “Bambi’s mother got killed by that bad hunter. Do we have to watch this anymore?”

 

     Trying to be reassuring, I said, “We’re going to turn this off right now, though I can tell you Bambi and Thumper end up okay. I’ll try and think of something else, and we’ll include this on the long list of things not to tell your mother.”

 

     I ran through all the animated films I remembered from my youth, mentally eliminating those involving the death of an animal or a human being. That made the Lion King a no-no, even though the kids had already seen it, and Mufasa made an Ob-Wan-like re-appearance in the middle of the film.

 

     Beauty and the Beast was also out. While it was the bad guy who got killed, I wasn’t sure they would understand or appreciate the distinction. After briefly considering Fantasia and remembering it bored even me, I settled on Toy Story as a short-term fix. The kids had already seen it several times, but it would do until I found something new.

 

     I forgot about Sid, the sociopathic kid next door. Somehow I had transitioned my kids from the execution of a mother deer to a nightmarish kid who tortured defenseless toys. Right about the time Sid pulled out his magnifying glass to singe Woody’s forehead, Jack ran crying from the room. Emily stayed where she was, staring at me with an accusatory look that somehow hurt even worse.

 

     Turning off the movie, I said, “Okay, I screwed up again, and yes, that is one mixed-up kid. The point is Woody and Buzz get away from Sid, and they scare him so much that he never hurts another toy. That’s good, isn’t it?”

 

     From Emily’s expression, I could see the end clearly did not justify the means. I needed to come up with an alternative, something to stem the tide of SpongeBob mania that had overtaken my household.

 

     I tried the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. While there were no tearful exits from the TV room, Emily and Jack viewed the series with disdain.  When we finished with the first episode, Emily tried to explain.

 

     “Turtles don’t talk, and why would they bother listening to a rat?  Rats are icky.”

Jack had an equally compelling objection. “Why would a rat be named Splinter?  And why are the turtles’ names so stupid?”

 

     ”You have been watching a show about a talking sponge who makes hamburgers in a fast food joint run by a crab. After all that, you’re really going to argue about talking turtles?”

 

     After looking at her brother for confirmation, Emily slowly shook her head. “Sorry, your show still seems stupid.”

Her logic was questionable, but I couldn’t deny the underlying point. The Ninja Turtles might be no less credible than a talking sponge, but they weren’t much better, either. I needed something good, something timeless.

 

     It was Alma who solved my problem as she had solved so many others. We would watch a show that, while old, was still undeniably cool. I would introduce my children to the Looney Tunes.

 

     Finding the Tunes proved harder than I expected, but I was determined to locate Bugs and friends wherever they were hiding. I first checked Disney. With no luck there, I then tried Amazon, home to all things, including ugly Christmas sweaters, 3-D printers, and nuclear reactors. Surely Amazon would not let me down.

 

     For the first time in my quixotic search, I turned out to be correct. Combing that evening through the occasionally frightening offerings available on Amazon Prime, I found classic versions of the Looney Tunes and a newer, updated version starring Bugs and Daffy Duck. The next day I unveiled my old cartoon fetish in front of the cynical eyes of my modern-day children.

 

     As we sat down for our usual post-breakfast bout of TV, I told Jack and Emily I had something new. The Toy Story disaster still fresh in their minds, both reacted with understandable trepidation. Assuring them any violence would be mild, I plopped the Looney Tunes DVD into our player.

 

     I was more than a little bit nervous, but the Tunes were a definite hit. Bugs and Daffy got most of the screen time, but Tweety, Sylvester, and Foghorn Leghorn also made appearances. The kids laughed, and I realized I had finally gotten things right.  

 

     I held my breath only when Wile Coyote and the Roadrunner made their first appearance. The short ended with Wile stuck underneath an Acme safe, but my kids proved selective in their aversion to gratuitous violence. Afterward, most of their questions revolved around Acme.

 

     Emily began, “What is that written on the side of the safe?”

 

     After I explained the concept of a mail-order company, Jack chimed in.

 

     “So you can order exploding stuff, giant rubber bands, and all those other things through Acme?  Can we get stuff through them?”

 

     I could see where this was going. “Acme went out of business a few years ago – way too many lawsuits. Now we have Amazon. They sell even more things, but none explode or can otherwise be used as weapons.”

 

     Knowing what was on Amazon, I knew the latter was an exaggeration. Nonetheless, I held that line for now. Jack was disappointed, his dreams of world domination dashed by the cowardliness of a risk-averse corporation. He seemed mollified when I suggested he could someday run Amazon and expand its inventory. He then turned his attention back to the Roadrunner, a show Jack now viewed as a how-to manual.     

 

     After Roadrunner came Yosemite Sam, Elmer Fudd’s more violent alter-ego. I had forgotten about Sam, the hyper-aggressive gun-toting nemesis of Bugs Bunny. Fortunately, however, he too passed muster with Emily and Jack, even after whacking a camel and raising a noticeable bump. Emily wasn’t pleased with the slam, but she grew more satisfied when Sam got his own comeuppance - Bugs flattening him inside any countless number of doors.

 

     We watched an entire DVD that morning, more than I intended, but I had a lot to live down. Upon finishing, I was back to good Dad again, certainly preferable to Dad, the deer killer.

 

     The next day, I begged off on our usual TV viewing hour due to a ton of backlogged projects, curious what show my kids would choose when I wasn’t guiding them. I expected a return to SpongeBob, and Emily did push in that direction.

 

     To my surprise, however, Jack lobbied for the “Tunes.”  Eventually, the kids agreed to an every-other-day rotation, watching Emily’s preference one day and Jack’s the next. As a parent and a traditionalist, I couldn’t have been happier.

 

     Deciding to keep well enough alone, I resolved to no longer interfere in my children’s choice of cartoons. Still, thinking more about my childhood, I couldn’t help wondering about other possibilities. Neither, as it happened, could Alma. After greeting the kids one evening, she asked,

 

     “Do you want to tell me why my three-year-old is singing the theme from Popeye?”

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     “Think of it as expanding their horizons. With any luck, Jack might actually eat his vegetables.”