Tuesday – Why My Child Will Never Be Trivial Pursuit Champ

I have a deep affection for Johnny Carson and Tim Conway.  I can sing along with Neil Diamond and The Four Seasons.  I’ve actually owned several versions of The Best Of Tommy James And The Shondells, including the one I now have on CD.  I can tell you which Elvis movie is playing by the length of his hair and the car he’s driving.  I knew Paul Newman’s eyes were blue when I was twelve years old.

Why do I babble on about this?  Because these are all loves I inherited from my parents. And it occurred to me the other day that, unless I force him, the Boy will never know the joys of a Van Halen riff, the romance of Say Anything, or hysterical comedy of Robin Williams playing a dork from outer space.  

I was 11 years old before I had a TV in my room.  (It was a 9-inch b/w with a single rabbit ear antennae.)  Before that, if I wanted to watch TV, it was in the living room and I watched what my parents wanted to watch.   Sure, if there was something specific I wanted to watch (Bobby Sherman/Donny Osmond/Partridge Family) I could campaign and I would usually get my way, but not always.  And we didn’t have cable – it wasn’t even available for most of my childhood – so we had about 5 channel choices.  This meant we watched reruns in the summer and liked it. 

I didn’t have a walkman/mp3 player, either.  That meant that in car we listened to the radio.  AM radio, too, until well into my preteen years.  (God, how I loved going anywhere with my Grandma, who had FM and would let me listen to whatever album rock station I wanted!)  I had a record player, and my own record collection, from the time I was about 6 years old, but my parents had the real stereo.  Any sunny Sunday you would find our home rocking with Righteous Brothers and the soundtrack for The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly.

Some of my favorite memories, random though they might seem, are of the whole family being entertained by the same thing.  Friday nights, up late with my Mother laughing hysterically at Johnny Carson on our way to The Midnight Special.  Saturday nights lying on the itchy wool carpet at my grandparent’s home, watching The Carol Burnett Show and Love Boat.  Driving to the grocery store in a thunderstorm and hearing the Beatles’ Something on WTAC.

Now we can be in the car for hours and not even have the Boy hear a word we’re saying or the songs we’re playing.  We try, though.  We introduce the Boy to our favorite movies as often as possible.   We physically forced him to listen to Hot For Teacher the other day.  I … I just don’t think he’s ready for pre-Sammy Van Halen, but we’ll try again later.  The one thing, the main thing, we’ve been able to pass on to him is our Beatles catalog.  The child can recite chapter and verse from the Fab Four.  And that’s a good place to start.