Sibling rivalry: When the TV Fights for a Place at the Table

I was fortunate enough to see my college roommate on Father's Day. This is significant for a number of reasons, but the most prominent include that facts that, a.) He was the first in my inner circle to become a father; b.) The opportunity to become a father ended our time together as roommates (rightfully so, we would say); and c.) I haven't seen him in at least a year.

He and his family live a stone's throw from my grandpa's house. Since the old man is a father worthy of celebration, I found myself chatting in the garden and realizing I should probably pay a visit. I walked over to his place and sipped on a gin and tonic, because I thought it would be funny to boast about the childless world of Sunday afternoon gin baths (kidding, sort of). I ended up catching the tail end of their family movie night, and showed up just in time to see a motley group of digitized, sub-Saharan animals walk off into the sequel to a Madagascan sunset.

"Is this a weekly occurrence?" I wondered.
"Pretty much," he replied. "We like that the television is in here. Usually its music or voices for their entertainment."

Here was a tiny alcove near the front door, probably conceived as a mudroom for shoes and coats. As I sat on the floor, the children bounced on a small loveseat and told me about their favorite scenes before scampering off into their own sunset, now just visible through the branches of a tree and the backyard swing.

I told my wife about this arrangement later that evening--about secluding the television in another room--and we discussed the nature of television in our childhood homes, as well as what we observed with our friends then and now. In my house, I told her, everyone got ready at their own speed, so spending my middle school mornings with Eek the Cat! was pretty common. My step-mom even coaxed my brother and me into submissive cereal sessions by using VHS episodes of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles we'd seen hundreds of times.

I was somewhat of a latchkey kid outside of football season, so I spent afternoons with Music Television staples like The Grind or Singled Out or, in earlier years, Fox's Mighty Morphing Power Rangers. When dinner was served or homework started, the TV finally went blank. It kicked back on later, and even put me to bed on occasion. I confessed to having, but not abusing, my own small TV set in my room at one house.

At certain friends' houses, both then and now, the TV is the chattiest member of the family. It's on even when no one's watching it. The steady beat of commercial jingles, conversations, and sportscasters fills any gap day-to-day living and communicating might create. Most often, the ubiquitous white noise of the television causes anxiety, confusion, or stress when eliminated. Things seem a bit awkward for them, likely the same kind of awkward I feel with the damn thing always on. The existing silence represents a lack which, like a junkie after that sweet warm glow, needs fixing.

In the interest of full disclosure, I will say that we have an enormous television set in our house. It is featured prominently in a central location. We have modern bells and whistles as well. There's a dusty Wii, the an unfilled 6-disc DVD player, and an old VCR. We also rely on the genius of TiVo to select and record programs, then zip through commercials that get in our way. While I might sound like a slave to entertainment, last night I realized something kind of neat. TiVo ensures that we know why we are sitting in front of the screen. No one sits down and says, "What's on?" It's only, "What do we have saved up?" or maybe an expectation of a regularly scheduled episode. When the show ends, so does our TV time. Because we select the shows we want to watch, we flip, surf, or endure programs in the hopes of finding something to watch. The TiVo, it seems, is a solid reason we don't feel compelled to let the tube prate on in the backgrounds of our evenings.

Though my life does not share the context or the structure of my old roommate's young family, I do not fear that someday my own clan, whatever shape it might become, will rely on a channel to fill the spaces between its members. I'm sure this imaginary family will have plenty to talk about as soon as Daddy figures out how to kick this internet habit...