CHILDREN'S TELEVISION VIEWING

CHILDREN'S TELEVISION VIEWING
By Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

When I was small, Saturday mornings for years filled their television time slots with such heroes as Lassie, Superman, and The Lone Ranger. Great feats of unselfish honor was displayed by these characters, while we sat in awe at the edge of our seats, our corn flakes growing soggy in the milk. These heroes we dreamt of being like and included in the fantasy of our playtime, were admired for the lessons they taught and the goodness they brought forth from the immense power they had over evil.
One Saturday, in 1984, when my son was eleven and my daughter was five, I watched them become absorbed in a television show. The heroes they urged on to victory were robots with green arms and silver chests. They took their enemies with red laser beams that sprang forth from cold, unfeeling eyes....making their getaways through the vast darkness of space.
"What is this show?" I asked my son.
"Transformers," he said, not moving his eyes from the television screen.
"Which are the good guys and which are the bad?" I asked again. They all looked alike to me.
"The good guys can transform themselves into rockets or cars," he explained.
"Don't they have any people in this show?" I said.
"Who needs people when robots and computers can do the job better?" he countered.
My heart filled with sadness, for it was a sad fact my children only had scary looking trash cans with eyes for heroes. I then realized it was my moral duty, as their mother, to show them the true meaning of heroism and justice.
Quickly I scanned the T.V. Guide for the listings of such shows as Lassie and Superman. Having cable service gave us a wide variety of station selections, and soon my quest was fulfilled. The next evening I gathered my children together and announced we were going to watch a show that was one of my all time favorites.
Lassie appeared on the screen, her silky, thick coat and beautifully groomed tail filling me with fond memories of my childhood. When the station paused for a commericial break I turned to my children, with undying loyalty for that dog, and smiled.
Charged with nostalgia, I said, "Isn't Lassie great.....she's so smart."
"Yeah, I guess the dog's okay, but the kid's a jerk," my son said.
"What do you mean?" I asked shocked. "How could Timmy be a jerk? He's just a small, sweet, blond-haired boy who never answers back his mother."
"He's a stupid jerk," my son repeated. "He gets into trouble and depends on a dog to save him."
"Can we get a pig, mom?" my daughter chimed in.
I frowned. "Why on earth would you want a pig?"
"Because Timmy has a pig and it looks like fun," she said.
"Can we turn the channel now, mom?" my son asked disgusted. "Red Dawn's on HBO."
"No," I snapped. "I want to finish watching Lassie. Anyway, at the end of the program she raises her paw, like she's waving goodbye."
"Oh, sick, who cares, mom?" my son said. "This whole show is stupid.
"The pigs okay," my daughter added cheerfully."

Lassie bombed, but my hopes weren't shattered yet. The evening I gathered them together to watch Superman.
They'll like this, I thought convinced. Superman has more action.....fantasy.....more bad guys.
Handsome and muscular, Superman's heroic figure flashed across the screen. I sighed with admiration, remembering my dreams of this courageous crime fighter and hoping to one day fly through the clouds with him. When he saved Lois Lane from the clutches of the evil scientist, I turned to my children, excited for his victory.
"Isn't he handsome.....isn't he just the best?" I mused.
"He's stupid too," my son said bored. "He doesn't know how to use his powers."
I frowned. "Of course he knows how to use his powers. He got the bad guy, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but then he should have melted him with his X-Ray vision. This way he'll just serve some time in jail. Soon he'll be out on good behavior and back bothering Lois again," my son said.
"Superman isn't sadistic, doesn't kill people to make peace. He's got values, is honorable," I said in Superman's defense.
"He's stupid," my son said and turned the channel to M.T.V.

I had just about given up when a friend told me reruns of The Lone Ranger aired early on Sunday mornings.
"They might enjoy him," she said, trying to give me new hope. "He's got a horse and gun. All kids like the old west."
Sunday morning I woke my crew early. They stumbled blindly, toting their blankets and pillows, to the family room and flopped down on the floor.
"What is it this time?" my son inquired, pushing a tossled lock of hair from his eyes.
"The Lone Ranger," I said excited. "You'll like him. He's got a white horse, a set of guns with pearled handles, and an Indian friend named Tonto."
My son yawned unenthused and settled back to watch the show.
My heart raced when The Lone Ranger appeared, in his white glory.....wearing the black mask that mysteriously hid his true indentity. I burst with pride as he rode his horse, fearless against the outlaws.
"Isn't he brave?" I muttered in awe.
"He's a whimp," my son mumbled sleepily.
"How dare you call The Lone Ranger a whimp. He made the streets of the old west safe for the women to walk upon. He saved the ranchers from being swindled by the cattle rustlers. He lived off the land. How does all that make him a whimp?" I asked.
"All he uses is a stupid little pair of handguns. M-60's are more effective. Rambo would cream this guy," my son said.
"Rambo's a messy fighter. All he leaves is blood and death behind," I said.
"Yeah, he's totally awsome," my son breathed sadistically.
I threw my hands in the air. "I give up."
I sat back to watch the ending of the show. Once again fond memories surfaced as the farmer turned to the sheriff and asked, "Who was that masked man?"
My heart, overwhelmed with pride, swelled when the sheriff exclaimed. "That was The Lone Ranger."
Tears welled in my eyes as I watched him ride out of sight with a hearty, "Hi Ho Silver Away."
I glanced at my children, hoping to capture a favorable reaction, only to discover them sound asleep. I sighed, brushing the tears from my eyes.
"Oh, well," I whispered to myself. "What do kids know."