TV Free

Television—who needs it? In our family, we’ve discovered a life that doesn’t run on remote control. Instead of pressing “power”, we fast-forward to real life: playing board games, taking after dinner walks around the neighborhood, and—gasp—reading books.

Although we own two sets, including a fancy big screen that promises high definition and stereo sound, for the most part they sit idly, gathering dust. “Is it all right if I turn on the TV?” my visiting sister-in-law politely asks, clearly bewildered by our quiet home. “Sure, go ahead,” I say, not wanting to seem out of touch. But part of me wants to suggest, “Or we could just take the kids outside to play.”

As a young girl, if I wanted to watch “Mr. Rogers” or “The Jetsons”, I had to go to a friend’s house. Our rabbit-eared set only had three black and white static-filled channels. “Everyone else has color,” I’d complain.

“Oh, that thing’s just a noise box,” my mother would answer, shaking her head at my silly request.

I filled free time with piano and ice skating, ballet and drama. Alone in my room, I wrote stories, played with dolls, and read books. By high school, I was a certified nerd who knew nothing of MTV. Although I snuck in the occasional episode of “Love Boat” while my mother was at work, TV wasn’t a priority. By college, I was so accustomed to long periods of complete silence that I had to retreat to the library stacks to study.

Perhaps I’m doing my children a disservice by not exposing them to “iCarly” or “Sponge Bob” reruns. Socially, I know they’re behind in popular culture. “Dora” skips across my second grader’s yogurt container, yet my daughter knows little about Boots the monkey following a map to hidden treasure. Although my fifth grader donned a blonde wig and microphone last Halloween, I’m pretty sure she’d only watched one Hannah Montana show. Is this weird? Maybe. But more disturbing to me is my daughter’s ten-year-old friend, who recounted the lurid details of “Kate Plus Eight’s” marital problems.

“They’re getting a divorce ‘cause he had an affair,” she announced matter-of-factly, never skipping a beat as she sipped a juice box at my kitchen table.

For now, my girls seem happy without TV. After school, they play with their American Girl dolls, ride scooters and bikes, and bicker like typical siblings. My daughters love to read for pleasure. To them, stories come from the printed page, not sitcoms. At four-o-clock every afternoon, they see me reading a newspaper or magazine. “Oprah” or “Dr.Phil” don’t visit our home, and so far, nobody’s complained.

I have not banned television. After the girls are asleep, I’ve been known to watch more than one cheesy episode of “The Bachelor”. My husband needs his occasional pro football fix. If President Obama is addressing the nation, nothing can compare to the picture on our big screen.

My family is not without vice. We spend way too much time on other media, especially the computer. “Bearstein Bears, Too Much Computer!” I yell, reminding my eldest that she’s acting like a character from a popular children’s book. Perhaps I’ve modeled this behavior. After all, I can’t walk past my own computer without constantly checking the inbox. I think modeling is key. Kids are great imitators, and as parents, we need to check our habits.

Outside my window, crickets chirp, signaling fall’s arrival.

“Let’s play outside,” I tell my second grader. “You can put your dolls on your bike and give them a ride.”

As I water my flowers, I smile at my daughter, scribbling with sidewalk chalk as the late afternoon sun shines on our driveway. It’s four-o-clock, and life feels complete—even without the help of Sponge Bob or Oprah. If I could just find the remote, I’d definitely hit pause.