Remote Controlled: Part One

Children and T.V.:<BR> Regaining Control of Your Family

By Leonard Jason

Once upon a time, in days long ago, villagers would gather in the evening around the local storyteller. Sitting on the ground or perhaps a rugged bench, the young and the old would listen to tales of the past, thoughts of the future, and lessons for the day. The storyteller--a peasant with a gifted tongue, a village elder bent with years, or a traveling minstrel bearing tales and songs of lands far away--was a much-heralded figure in the community. Upon him was conferred a special power, for he was the essential link to both information and imagination.

Over time, our hamlets and villages grew to sprawling cities and suburbs, and while our thirst for stories remained, the voice of the storyteller changed. In the first shift, the bard gave way to the book. The printing press altered the story's basic form, shifting the public oral tradition to one that was primarily visual and private. Those with the ability could now read the tales of Homer, the teachings of religion, and the latest discoveries in science and exploration. The book held sway for nearly five hundred years. Then, as the twentieth century unfolded, the story passed rapidly from words on a page to a bold voice on the radio to the flickering light and crackly sound of talking moving pictures. Motion pictures seemed the peak of the storytelling tradition, but by the early 1930s the very public experience of motion pictures was further refined. The end product--the television--provided an experience that was much more personal and significantly more powerful.

Though books still line bookshelves, radios croon, and bards still roam the folk fair circuit, television is today our chief storyteller. It is one that boasts an astonishingly broad repertoire: dramas, comedies, news reports, weather reports, stock reports, made-for-TV movies, movies-of-the-week, commercials, cartoons, infomercials, editorials, and all other variety of news and story. As for quality, the same broad range exists. Some of television's content is truly impressive--providing wide windows into worlds unknown. And some of television's content is truly terrible--windows that might better be left shut. The discerning adult learns which is which, and clicks the remote control accordingly.

Children, however, generally lack powers of discernment. Most kids' criteria for viewing a given show has little to do with quality or suitability and has everything do with whether or not it is discussed in the lunch line. And unlike the communal days of the provincial storyteller, kids today are often on their own when it comes to seeing and hearing television's stories. What, then, are they watching? Some kids are perfectly content staying within the relatively safe bounds of children's programming. Kermit and friends have charmed pre-schoolers for decades, and today the options for children's television have never been more abundant. Most children, though, especially as they grow older, are not so easily satisfied. In an age where childhood is egged on at a furious pace, the majority of kids over the age of seven or eight yearn to be included--at least peripherally--in the adult world. Television offers a quick and ready passport. While some young viewers might find watching a major league baseball game to be "adult" enough, others stretch further, expertly responding to adult cues. Kids snicker and slap their knees at sex-oriented adult sitcoms and become downright giddy as the body count on a violent program keeps climbing.

In this first chapter we'll take a look at the content of television, with an eye toward the child audience. As we'll see, TV does offer a number of engaging and innovative programs for kids and their families. Too often, though, the quality shows are crowded out by programming that caters to violence, sex, stereotyping and commercialism. This uneasy mix makes putting a child in front of the TV set a dicey move, for as a storyteller television lacks that sensible human gauge that indicates propriety for a given audience. It reads its audience not in terms of mental and emotional readiness, but in terms of economic utility. Since children tend to rate low on television's economic scale, adult messages creep in early, juxtaposing Mr. Rogers and Mr. T. as models for adulthood. Lines of quality and suitability blur, creating for the child viewer an incoherent blend of Big Bird, guns, lust, commercialism, and bad jokes.