Turning the TV off all week is easier said than done

By Debbie Farmer

Whoever thought of National Turn Off <YOUR?> Television Week was either childless, kidding, or some kind of sado-masochistic freak. I would like to see this person in my home on a rainy day with my two children for an hour. It would be similar to throwing a lion tamer into a pit of man-eating lions with nothing but ketchup and a baked potato.

At first I thought it was a great idea. I couldn't wait to miss the giant purple dinosaur, the nerdy guy with the out-of-style sweater collection, and the image of Ringo Starr shrunk to the size of a chihuahua. I looked forward to my family doing creative, involved projects while enjoying each other and actually talking!

My euphoria ended about noon on the same day. My children had colored, painted, and stamped paper; walked, jogged, and jumped in the backyard; and used the dog (dressed in my daughter's hula skirt and bikini top) for target practice while pretending to be on safari in Africa.

While I reached for the phone to dial 911 to see if the police could lock me up for the rest of National Turn Off Television Week, I wondered what the person who thought of it was doing at the same time. Probably relaxing in a nice air-conditioned office on the top floor of a high-rise in the city, eating a catered Chinese lunch, with feet perched on top of the desk, chuckling softly while doodling "sucker" to the beat of the ending credits of General Hospital.

After lunch I composed myself and tried a new approach.

"What would you like to do?" I asked my children enthusiastically. "More than anything else in the world?"

"Watch TV!" they chimed happily, reaching for the remote.

"No," I continued. "This is our week to spend quality time together, to communicate without waiting for the commercial break, and to enjoy each other!"

"Can't we do that after Lamb Chop?" asked my daughter.

"No!" I snapped as I grabbed a piece of chalk and headed outside. "Let's play hopscotch."

"We want TV!"

My shoulders slumped forward in defeat. "OK," I said sadly, "you win. Go ahead and watch television until your eyeballs explode on the carpet."

I went outside and drew the hopscotch alone. Just as I was poised to hop I noticed a strange sound coming from the living room: silence.

"Hey Mom," I heard a tiny voice chirp behind me, "Can we play, too?"

I couldn't believe my ears.

"It's kind of fun when you play with us." They paused while picking up the chalk. "And we'll even let you go first."

My family might survive quality time after all.

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Debbie Farmer is a freelance writer.

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