The television is often portrayed as the enemy of family life and the relationship between parents and children in particular. It is “the boob tube” or “the one-eyed babysitter” when criticized in this manner. But recently, I have come to a different conclusion in my own mind.
For me as a very young child, there was something very special about Friday nights. I would spend Friday nights with my maternal grandparents. They got some grandchild time and my mother would get what was probably a well-deserved break. The early part of the evening was spent with my grandmother. She would talk to me while she cooked and a single floor-level cabinet in the kitchen was where all of the toys I could play with at my grandparents’ house were kept like a small treasure trove. At some point between 7:00 and 7:30, my grandfather would return home. The kitchen door would burst open from his weight, strength and determination. And if it was winter, my grandfather seemed to drag in the cold with him as well.
My grandfather would hang up his hat, his coat and the jacket of his business suit, remove his tie and put on one of his comfortable sweaters that had no place being seen outside the family. If the sweater didn’t have holes in it, it certainly had a gravy stain running down the front. After my grandfather died, my wife spent perhaps four or five years tolerating a gravy-stained sweater with holes at elbows that I had lifted from my grandfather’s belongings.
My grandfather would take me into the living room where the only color television I knew existed sat plainly on a roll-out stand. My grandfather had a chair in the living room that he claimed belonged to him as if it were his throne. A long couch and a love seat were the remainder of the cushioned furniture for adults. But there was a little wicker chair that my grandmother pulled out for me. With it were two matching wicker tables. The big one was placed in front of my grandfather and the small one was placed in front of me. Soon afterward, my grandmother would bring in two trays of dinner. I had my lone ginger ale of the week with my dinner and my grandfather would enjoy a bar room glass of scotch and ice, or “Scotch on the Rocks” as he called it.
There would normally be a few minutes of Walter Cronkite anchoring the Evening News before my grandfather and I watched a full episode of Hogan’s Heroes. I’ll never forget the sound of my grandfather laughing or the ice hitting the side of his glass. Today, whenever someone imitates Sergeant Schultz saying “I know nothing!” I still crack a smile. When my grandmother removed the dinner trays, she returned with a large party dish of either goldfish crackers or corn chips. My grandfather and I would finish our respective drinks and the final suspenseful minutes of the comedy with the salty treats in our mouths before I had to brush my teeth, get into my pajamas and go to bed.
Hogan’s Heroes will always hold a special place in my heart. The same can be said of The Carol Burnett Show which I would watch with my mother when I was a little bit older. Likewise, I will never forget watching Shoulder to Shoulder with my father and Uncle Ronald. These and a few other television shows were special treats and special memories that I shared with my parents and will never forget.
As a parent I have done the same thing with my own children. We let a very young Philip stay up late with us to watch the mini-series Taken. As Chloe became old enough to understand content beyond simple children’s television, the family watched Smallville’s first four seasons together. We gave up shortly into Season five because we concluded the network kept making Smallville more about teen sexuality and less about an interesting young Superman plot. Fortunately, we found what we were looking for in Stargate shortly after dropping Smallville.
More recently, it has gotten more complicated. Amelia and Chloe watch Pretty Little Liars together while Philip and I watch The Avengers. Chloe and I began watching Vampire Diaries and Glee together but eventually the rest of the family joined us. Likewise, Philip and Amelia began watching Deadliest Warrior together but I have since joined them. Philip found South Park which Amelia tolerates but which Chloe and I nonetheless enjoy watching with Philip.
As both Philip and Chloe become more private about their personal lives, the fictional world of television is something Amelia and I can share with them without risking being cut out as nosy. It is cheap and easy entertainment and as long as it does not become excessive, I believe television will prove a great set of memories Philip and Chloe will have of their parents the way the old classics are great memories I have of my own parents.
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