The dangers of television avoidance - Part One

Television and I go way back.  Although, not as far back as the average person, believe it or not.  In fact, thanks to the anti-television movement that was rife in my household during the early years of my upbringing, I was forced to attend school each day with absolutely no knowledge of what had gone on the previous night in Summer Bay or Ramsay Street (something that most of my friends and acquaintances during my school years would spend a great number of hours each day discussing).  So with that being said, and perhaps because I wasn’t able to discuss the various programs that were being aired throughout the country each night during my younger years, I now have quite a bit to say about the good old idiot box.  Which is why I’ve been required to break this rant post up into more than one part. 

  

Now don’t get me wrong.  I’m an avid television watcher.  In fact, most nights – once little madam and little man have eventually (and usually reluctantly) been sent away for a (hopefully) lengthy visit to the land of nod – if you’re looking for me, all you need to do is find the television in  my house and I can personally guarantee I won’t be far.  Most nights, in fact, I can quite happily allow whatever crappy rubbish that’s being aired on the idiot box to turn me into a zombie-like being, who enjoys letting anything and everything on the television drain away any cares and worries that have arisen throughout the day.  Yes.  The television and I have a relatively good relationship these days.  Which is something I’m sad (or perhaps I’m not sad, just torn) to say little madam and little man don’t yet have. 

This is me...once the kids are in bed, of course!

 So, let’s get down to the reason for this; the reason little madam and little man don’t share the same (or have an even remotely similar) relationship to the television as me.  I think the reason is largely due to my own upbringing where, when I was a wee lass (up until my tumultuous teenage years, at least, when no-one or no-thing – not even good-old mum and dad – could control my outrageous and rebellious behaviour) the television was not favoured in our household at all.  Now don’t get me wrong.  I can’t remember the television being treated as a poisonous demon or anything – my family aren’t fanatical religious people or anything – but I do remember that it was only allowed to be on at certain times (certainly not every day, and absolutely not for morning cartoons, or even for background noise etc).  And I also recall that we were mainly only allowed to watch programs shown on the good-old non-commercial ABC.  And, eventually, when I was well and truly much older than little madam’s current age of four, the odd movie; but only if it was considered appropriate. 

Devil be GONE! 

 

Now, although I don’t exactly remember my mum being neurotic about the television, I’m fairly convinced she must have been.  After all, I most certainly am.  Not neurotic about the television itself; just neurotic (and rather excessively controlling) about little madam and little man’s exposure to it.  For example, despite the fact that there is an array of terrific, and no-doubt educational child-friendly material being aired on a daily basis – even an entire channel dedicated to children – I will generally refuse to allow the sound of the television to echo through our humble abode before the Play School afternoon time-slot of 4:30pm.  And even then, I’ll only allow it to remain on for half an hour (or long enough to see the end of Giggle & Hoot’s brief five-pm sing-along). 


Believe me, this is not the upbringing I had envisaged for my own children during my very own television-deprived childhood existence.  After all, I have distinct memories of visiting friend’s houses, and being truly green with envy as the sights and sounds of commercial television banter echoed constantly around living rooms and, not to mention, in kitchens.  Oh how I longed for my mum to become one of those mums who had a television (that was constantly on, mind you) in the kitchen, to allow them to enjoy the late-afternoon game-shows that were being aired while they chopped vegetables for dinner.  After all, my mum would certainly never hear of such a thing.  And I longed to be able to wake up, like so many of my friends, at the crack of dawn, and sit in front of the television still warm and snug in my pyjamas watching the daily cartoons. 

This is what I wished I was doing Saturday mornings as a kid!

For mum’s sake, though, I don’t really think a huge injustice was done by depriving me of these small things.  I mean I had a lot of things many children didn’t.  In fact, in fairness to her (and dad, too, of course) I truly had the most wonderful upbringing and wasn’t really deprived of anything; of course, the television perhaps being the exception.  I mean our experiences as a family counted for more than a regular Saturday morning cartoon session.   And I’ve spoken at great length to my cousin – whose mum is my mum’s sister – and he, who also experienced similar restrictions during his upbringing when it came to the television, confirmed that this anti-television trait (or whatever you like to call it) definitely runs in my family.

I’ve also raised the topic of the television with my mum, and tried to get her to shed a little light on the matter at hand.  She actually admitted that, while she was a young child herself, she used to wag school just so she could stay home and watch it (sorry mum).  So I guess I can kind of see why she was more uptight than most mothers about the television; I suppose she didn’t want me (or my brother and sister) following her square-eyed path. 

It’s interesting, though, how (depending on which stage of your life you’re in) your opinions on various things can change.  I mean as a young child, the television restrictions didn’t really have any bearing on my outlook.  But as a teenager, as I sat through (and was unable to contribute to) various gossip sessions with my friends about the various happenings in Ramsay Street or Summer Bay, I began to feel as though mum and dad had wronged me in some way.  Wronged me so much, in fact, that I recall making a very firm decision I would not allow my children to suffer the same television-deprived upbringing as I.  Which brings me to my next point.  When did I unknowingly become an almost exact replica of my parents (with young children) and feel the need to restrict/control the television in my own household?     

Well.  As I ponder the answer to this point – and whether, by the end of my series of television posts, I’m likely to apologise to little madam and little man for preventing them from ever being witness to Saturday morning bugs bunny and daffy duck toons (or is something else clogging up the airwaves on Saturday mornings these days?) - I’d like to ask whether any of you are, like me, slightly neurotic about the idiot box?  Am I the only one with a family who avoided the television like one would avoid the plague during their upbringing?  Please, for the sake of my own sanity, tell me I’m not alone!