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Chapter 1:- She Watches But Does She Understand?
The other day conversation turned, as it will, to my new daughter and someone asked me if she was paying attention to the TV yet.
I thought nothing of it at the time, but later began to wonder exactly when in the history of the nation did television viewing become a measure of child development. And then I thought what could be more relevant a measure in today’s culture?
Not that I think it’s a bad thing. I’m of the first television generation and have spent way more time pondering the glowing tube than I’d care to admit. It would be traitorous of me to turn on TV now.
And, like most harried parents, I’m inclined to be happy with anything that will give me a break however short. There’s no final, rock hard truth that television viewing will cause long term damage to her human potential and if there is something I’ve no heard off, keep it to yourself.
We love our children desperately, but if you’re a parent and you’ve never lusted after a quiet moment when you can sit and have a cup of coffee and escape the tyranny of blocks and picture books and ‘constructive interaction’ you are either a saint or a liar.
My daughter paying attention to the TV is right up there with the day she discovered her thumb, that wondrous, comforting, always available appendage whose succor let her sleep through the night. What a blessed event.
It’s the noise bright colors that attract her, these and other children. The sound of a child’s laughter stops her in her little tracks. She stands tall and grins at the tube. She hasn’t a clue to plot or character or the social, moral or religious implications of programming. She doesn’t care. She looks to see what those kids are doing and when pretty music plays she dances.
She is fond of the Teletubbies and, given the furor from the religious right I suppose I should worry about that, but I just can’t work up the indignation. To be honest, I thought the relevant Tubbie - I can’t remember their names - carried a purse because it was a female of whatever creature those things are. I thought nothing of the purple and didn’t know that the triangle was a gay pride symbol until Mr. Falwell’s staff told me. I promise to be properly suspicious of all triangles I encounter in the future.
And I promise to worry about Jessa watching that show, but not much. She really only likes the laughing baby in the sun anyway. Actually, the corrupting evil of television isn’t one of my great life worries. There are worse demons about.
I do wonder, though, when TV will become part of the protocol used to gauge a child’s learning ability, when the doctor will ask “Can she pay attention through a whole episode of ER? How about movies and mini-series? Does she understand plots and sub-plots and character development. Can she distinguish between rerun Simpsons and first run Simpsons?”
This may prove a valuable tool if we were honest enough to judge our children by standards that are really relevant to the lives we live rather than by such esoteric matters as reading and writing.
The other day conversation turned, as it will, to my new daughter and someone asked me if she was paying attention to the TV yet.
I thought nothing of it at the time, but later began to wonder exactly when in the history of the nation did television viewing become a measure of child development. And then I thought what could be more relevant a measure in today’s culture?
Not that I think it’s a bad thing. I’m of the first television generation and have spent way more time pondering the glowing tube than I’d care to admit. It would be traitorous of me to turn on TV now.
And, like most harried parents, I’m inclined to be happy with anything that will give me a break however short. There’s no final, rock hard truth that television viewing will cause long term damage to her human potential and if there is something I’ve no heard off, keep it to yourself.
We love our children desperately, but if you’re a parent and you’ve never lusted after a quiet moment when you can sit and have a cup of coffee and escape the tyranny of blocks and picture books and ‘constructive interaction’ you are either a saint or a liar.
My daughter paying attention to the TV is right up there with the day she discovered her thumb, that wondrous, comforting, always available appendage whose succor let her sleep through the night. What a blessed event.
It’s the noise bright colors that attract her, these and other children. The sound of a child’s laughter stops her in her little tracks. She stands tall and grins at the tube. She hasn’t a clue to plot or character or the social, moral or religious implications of programming. She doesn’t care. She looks to see what those kids are doing and when pretty music plays she dances.
She is fond of the Teletubbies and, given the furor from the religious right I suppose I should worry about that, but I just can’t work up the indignation. To be honest, I thought the relevant Tubbie - I can’t remember their names - carried a purse because it was a female of whatever creature those things are. I thought nothing of the purple and didn’t know that the triangle was a gay pride symbol until Mr. Falwell’s staff told me. I promise to be properly suspicious of all triangles I encounter in the future.
And I promise to worry about Jessa watching that show, but not much. She really only likes the laughing baby in the sun anyway. Actually, the corrupting evil of television isn’t one of my great life worries. There are worse demons about.
I do wonder, though, when TV will become part of the protocol used to gauge a child’s learning ability, when the doctor will ask “Can she pay attention through a whole episode of ER? How about movies and mini-series? Does she understand plots and sub-plots and character development. Can she distinguish between rerun Simpsons and first run Simpsons?”
This may prove a valuable tool if we were honest enough to judge our children by standards that are really relevant to the lives we live rather than by such esoteric matters as reading and writing.
