Watching TV... (an excerpt from O'Connor Street)

For those who have asked if I write about things other than politics and humor, here is a chapter from my unfinished book - "O'Connor Street."

It is written from the perspective of a ten year old boy growing up in  multicultural, multiracial, residential Woodbrook in the 70's.

Watching TV

After school, we all had homework to do, which was followed by chores and then we could either go outside to play or we could watch television.

I would usually choose to go outside and play, find some friends and have some fun unless it was raining, in which case I ‘plumped’ myself down in front the TV and watched whatever was showing at the time.

Our viewing choices were limited as there was only one 'channel', so you basically watched what was showing on that channel or nothing at all.

Watching TV in my house (like everything else we did) was a power struggle and a fight. In the car everyone wanted an end seat because you had control of the window, so we would all refuse to get into the car, arguing and fighting, and pushing and shoving until my father got mad and started cursing and shouting and then we’d all pile in, still fighting, but quiet now, hoping for the best but grudgingly or happily settling for what you got depending on the outcome.

In the TV room there was a couch, my father’s chair, and the floor.

On the couch (where we sat to watch TV), everyone fought for the middle seat (it was a three seater) because if anyone got up on the right or left of you, you would then have two seats and you could lie down. This was such a source of tension in my house that people have been known to sit on that middle seat staring at a blank TV set for hours waiting for the time when the good shows start. If you needed to use the bathroom you couldn’t, because as soon as you got up someone else would take your seat.

The usual programming was Sesame Street from three o’clock (which we all wanted to see so there was much seat fighting and jostling), Rikki Tikki at four (which none of us wanted to see, so the TV room was empty with the TV on for nobody, which would cause the occasional outburst from my father for us leaving the TV on and wasting electricity), and at five o’clock The Electric Company came on and the battle was rejoined in earnest. Usually the middle seat sitter would announce the Electric Company was starting, and we would come barreling in from all sides to begin fighting for seats.

After six there was Best Village, which we didn’t really care for, and seven o’clock was ‘News”.

We weren’t allowed back in the TV room before eight o’clock because my father watched ‘The News’ between seven and eight, and one of the worst ‘buffs’ you could get was to disturb my father during the news.

A shout of ‘I’M listening’ without him looking away from the TV explained to us all that the king was being disturbed and he would have none of it. The way he behaved you would swear that he was important to what was going on in the news, but I never understood this man.

We would come back into the room after news and settle in for what was showing that night.

Funny thing about the eight o’clock return to the TV room is that there was no fighting for any seats because my father was there and he didn’t tolerate that at all.

Anyway, this one night, after we all had dinner and returned to our respective seats and were happily watching the TV, there was a soft ‘poof’ and the screen went blank.

Completely.

Well, except for a little bright white dot in the center.

The sudden silence and darkness made us all aware of our surroundings and the close proximity of our father, in a situation that we all knew had the potential to end very badly. This man did not handle unplanned change well at all.

I held my breath.

I didn’t know if to leave or to stay, or better yet I wanted to leave but I didn’t know how and I just didn’t want to be in that room when his mood deteriorated; I had seen him get angry with the TV before, because my father and the TV seemed to have a sort of love hate relationship.

It wasn’t the newest appliance in the house, and it was modified with age. Standing on four legs, it looked green when it was off with knobs on the right of the screen. Once when the repairman came I saw the back of the TV, and there were a couple knobs in the back that you ‘interfered’ with if there was a problem, and this one red knob that you were never to touch at all, which made me want to touch it, but I knew better, but I always thought of that red knob at the back of the TV.

The knobs on the front didn’t really work anymore, so we had a pair of pliers permanently on top of the TV that we used to turn it on and off and to 'fiddle' with the channel selector as it seemed to ‘slip’ between channels from time to time. I remember this one time when the pliers he (my father) used to change the channels didn’t seem to be accomplishing much and he was moving from one screen of snow and noise to another screen of snow and noise and he started to get angry so we started to get worried and he ran so completely out of patience that he hit that TV one hard slap on the side and wouldn’t you know it the picture and sound came back perfect as ever.

I was so relieved I wanted to clap, I was sure we were supposed to do something to celebrate this but nobody seemed to know what and we were all so happy to be breathing again that we continued being silent and allowed this man to bask in the success of his violence, the swagger as he returned to his seat said it all, there was nothing that a good slap couldn’t fix.

From that day forward, that TV get some good slap anytime it didn’t do what it was supposed to do and that usually got it showing again.

Not tonight though, he was slapping and slapping to no avail, he slapped the side but nothing happened. He slapped the top but still no change, that white dot just stared silently out at him, mocking him, taunting him, and I knew that he knew that we were all behind him, watching him, and his failure to get what he wanted made him slap that TV so hard and I thought at some point he was going to start punching and kicking the crap out of it and I just wanted to be out of that room because somehow this was gonna work its way back to me, because it almost always did.

The situation was going from bad to worse and I don’t know to this day what made me open my mouth but I had the audacity to suggest a solution to my father and I said “What about the red knob in the back” and everyone looked at my father and then at me like I had gone mad for daring to suggest anything to this man who hated to ask for directions even if he was totally and completely lost, but I didn’t know what else to do and seconds after they came out of my mouth I wished I could inhale the words right back in.

With his back to us my father stood up, slowly, and half turned to do or say what I don’t know, when the idea of the red knob must have been still circulating in his mind, digesting, and he turned back towards the TV and bent over the back and I thought yes he was going to press the red knob and I was hoping and praying it worked because then I’d be a hero, and even though I had never been a hero, I thought there might be a parade, maybe a cake, and we all held our collective breath as my father pressed the red knob in the back and the screen flashed bright for a second like it was coming back on (yaay) and then.... nothing.

It went completely dark.

Completely.

Even the little white dot was gone, and from her place on the middle seat I heard my eldest sister say -"uh oh"