(HOST) April 22-28 is National Turn off the TV Week, and Commentator Deborah Luskin has a problem with that.
(LUSKIN) It’s National Turn Off TV Week, and I can’t do it, because I don’t have a TV.
I grew up with television – a giant tube my father built into a wall in the basement playroom, where we kids were allowed to watch for the half hour before dinner. My three brothers tuned in to The Three Stooges. With three brothers, I didn’t find The Three Stooges funny, just normal, so from the get-go, TV offered me no escape. Instead, I turned to thick, Victorian novels, where I identified with every virtuous and misunderstood heroine. Then it was off to college – and more reading.
I did own a TV during my single years in New York City, and I watched reruns of M*A*S*H until the early hours of the morning. I was glad to leave the box behind when I moved to Vermont. Here, I don’t have time to watch TV.
There are times when not having television is inconvenient, like when the Red Sox are in the World Series. But every bar in Windham County has a flat screen TV, and it’s fun to watch a game with a crowd.
I know I’d enjoy some of the PBS specials if I had a TV. Occasionally, I entertain the thought of plugging in to cable. The feeling was strongest back in 2000, when Howard Dean was running for president. I thought I’d like to watch the campaign. I started thinking about how my life might change if I had television. I thought of the laundry I might fold, instead of wearing it rumpled, right out of the basket. I imagined investing in an ironing board at the same time, and an iron, and pressing our clothes while I filled my head with current events. I thought of all the mending I could do and started counting the safety pins I could retire. I imagined myself knitting a sweater for everyone in the family at Christmas.
I also thought I might benefit from an occasional dose of contemporary culture, learn something about how my virtual neighbors live, especially from watching the ads. But when I casually mentioned to my oldest daughter what I was considering, her reaction was immediate. "Oh, Mama," she said, " Don’t do it. Growing up without TV was the best thing you did."
"How?" I wanted to know.
Speaking for herself and her sisters, she counted the ways: "You read to us; we became readers. We played imaginary games. We played outside. Each of us became passionate about something – theater, karate, dance." And then she looked me straight in the eye and said, "Not watching TV gave us a chance to be ourselves instead of trying to be like everyone else."
Not only was this a rare and remarkable endorsement of our parenting, it was a great relief. Life without TV allows me to continue on my rumpled, idiosyncratic, and happy way.