My kids are on holiday with their father, so I'm doing what I do when I miss them: I'm thinking of all the funny, sweet, and surprising things they've done and said lately. I'm smiling now, at the memory of my son snuggling up to me the other morning to say: "Mom, you're the best." With some suspicion of a set-up after an argument the night before, I replied: "Really? Even though I object to television and don't want you to play video games?" He kept me in the long shadow of his mischievous smirk for a few extra beats, before responding: "Yeah, because you really rock when it comes to 'name-that-tune' and 'say-that-poem'."
It's true, I am the undisputed champion of both games in our little family of three. Although I must admit that both my son and daughter are rapidly gaining on me, as I catch them up on decades of music they didn't live through and centuries of poems they have yet to discover. So, while I'm probably obnoxiously strict about the avoidance of electronic entertainment, I'm incredibly liberal in exposing them to certain lyrics, contexts, and concepts that are far from age appropriate. I don't know where that puts me on the scale between Amy Chu, author of the much-debated Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom and self-proclaimed "Panda Dad" Alan Paul. Perhaps, as in many instances, I'm just my own brand of odd.
As I struggled recently to explain the words to The Clash classic "Charlie Don't Surf" (a current favorite of my ten year old), I found myself dipping into Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness to get to Francis Ford Coppola's film Apocalypse Now, on my way to a quick primer on the Vietnam War, racism, sarcasm, and irony. Phew, it was almost a relief when my daughter piped up with questions about what Brit Pop singer Lily Allen was going on about. Thank Jah for euphemisms!
Uncomfortable as it may be to explain adult topics to kids, I believe it's important to respect their intellectual capacity to seek and hold information they may only partially understand. At least their minds are working -- even struggling -- to sort out things that seem beyond them. Heck, that's essentially what I do every time my mother explains cell biology and genetic engineering to me. And, in fact, that mode of aggressive inquiry is exactly what I want to cultivate and nurture in them.
Fundamentally, I suppose that's my main objection to television shows and games like Angry Birds. Kids react to these electronic episodes, even interact with them, at some level. Yet, they only "think" about them in terms of when they get to play or watch again. They only seek to "understand" them in terms of who the characters are or which tricks and rules apply. These are modes of acceptance, not channels for growing young imaginations. I recite poems and crank music to spark a habit of investigation, exploration, and challenge. I want them to develop a habit of art, and a taste for the unconventional. I want them to be active participants in the making of meaning. A metaphor takes two to tango -- creator and audience -- and so diving into a song or into a poem gets them intellectually and emotionally involved in creative collaboration. Life is dynamic. I want them to be their own makers.
Frankly, I want my kids to feel that their upbringing was a little peculiar, and to embrace that, if for no other reason than for them to recognize that doing things differently can be beautiful. There is too much sameness in what kids are generally exposed to. We shave off all the edges with a mind to protect them, but then they end up with only soft corners when it comes time to navigate their worlds alone. Big boo-boos ensue.
When my son was asked to choose a number for his soccer jersey, he picked "11." Attaboy! I hope he keeps his wits on volume eleven. Sometimes the 10 setting just isn't enough.
"Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:Already with thee! Tender is the night"
From "Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats