Evan’s crib lives in our bedroom. It has a nook. So that Cathy and I could watch television we would leave it on when Evan was put in the crib for the night. This way he wouldn’t go from a total black, quiet room to a bright, noisy lighted room. When I noticed him watching the television after I would put him in the crib, and I noted that the programs were sometimes violent, or Ophraish, or foul mouthed comedians, I started to question my parenting.
Having Comcast’s digital cable, I started setting the television to classical music. Of course, Cathy will put the music on the 70s channel when she puts Evan down for naps or sleep. Between the two of us, he’s now being flooded with music that encourages big hair, high libido, and a serious coke habit (have you ever actually watched Fantasia?).
It didn’t occur to me that we had ingrained a ritual into the poor boy’s head until the cable went out today. Evan went down for a nap and complained that the tv was "broke" and demanded his music. What? Use a boom box or radio?! Pshaw!
