I have tremendous respect for people who say they don’t let their kids watch TV, because it’s not easy for two parents to stand up for the courage of their convictions and lie to everyone they know.
Granted, there may be some kids out there living in some rarefied world without TV, but just think: One day those kids may inadvertently run into a guy in a SpongeBob SquarePants suit and be forever traumatized. Seem risky to me.
But even though my kids are fairly conversant in children’s television, my wife and I have never been ploppers, instead making it a point to actively watch TV with them. If you need proof, feel free to quiz me on the lyrics to any song that has ever been sung by Barney the dinosaur. You'll know by my glassy expression and the beads of sweat on my temples that I'm suffering Post-Barney Stress Syndrome, which you can't fake.
Fortunately now that my daughter is in kindergarten her Barney days are behind her (and thus us), and my son, who's 3, never had much interest in him - which is one of those little miracles that help parents get through their life, like when no one throws up on a major holiday.
No, my son is a Bear in the Big Blue House man, through and through. And therein lies my problem, as you’ll find out if you read this week’s column.