It’s no secret that my parents used the television as a babysitter. “Hey, Jack. Look, Sesame Street is on. OK, we’re going to Maui. There are Lean Cuisines in the freezer. See you in two weeks!” I’m not upset about it. I was only four-years-old, but at least I grew up watching appropriate family shows like The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Cheers. Hence, from an early age, I wanted to be black and an alcoholic. That’s why I spent most of my childhood drinking in the sun.
These days, family television has taken a different turn. Now, there is a show on ABC called Modern Family. The plot follows three different families: one has the “normal,” comic disfunctions. The second is an old man (Al Bundy!) who is married to a much younger woman (ballin’). And finally, we have two fat, gay men with an adopted baby...from Vietnam. I mean…come on.
Now, I’m quite socially hip. Yeah, I wear Converse sneakers and I’ve been to Brooklyn—once. So it’s not the liberal media agenda that upsets me. It’s how these shows are going to affect my kids. I’m sure my dad wished I had been watching baseball and Jeopardy, but instead he had to put up with my frequent renditions of “the Carlton” and constantly sneaking downtown to get liquored up. I would have been furious at my eight-year-old, and now I have to deal with these more controversial influences on my own kids.
The first family is a little too perfect. How can the average American family relate to one devoid of multiple divorces?
The second family sounds straight out of my future mid-life crisis fantasy. I have no problem with it as long as my darling little girl doesn’t get any ideas.
“Who are you taking to prom, honey?”
“This nice Polish boy named Roman.”
“Polanski?! The 76-year-old creep who hangs out at the bus stop?”
“But he wants me to be in his new movie!”
“Not on my watch!”
I’ll preface this by saying I have no problem with gay marriage. But when my spoiled brat of a kid throws a temper tantrum screaming, “I want two daddies and I want them now,” what am I supposed to say? “Listen, Veruca. You can’t have two daddies. Pop doesn’t roll like that. But if your mother stops being such a prude, maybe you can have two mommies.”
I guess I could just change the channel, but there’s not much else. Glee? I mean, the teacher blackmails the star quarterback into singing by planting weed on him. How are kids supposed to look up to that? If I wanted to see role models shattering their hero statuses with drugs, I’d watch the Olympics.
What’s the next show going to be about? A woman who lives on a farm and one day falls in love with a horse. You’ll laugh and laugh as she—actually, there is nothing funny about that. I just feel bad for the horse. Call it Mrs. Mr. Ed.
I could flip it over to Greek, but I want my kids to be excited about going to college the same way my dad popped in Animal House when I was in third grade and said, “If you do well in school, this is what you have to look forward to.” Greek is such a watered down version of college. If I sat Jack Jr. in front of it, I’d be disappointed if he didn’t drop out of preschool right then.
At one point, I wanted to get married and have a litter of kids. But first, they’re going to have to bring back Family Matters. “Hi-di-ho, Winslows!”
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