Ben and Me_ From Temperance to Humility - Cameron Gunn [51]
Television has played a significantly diminished role in my life as I’ve aged, both by choice and as a result of increasing demands on my time. There is no more Eddie Driscoll; he passed on after a battle with Alzheimer’s not long ago. The Jamboree has long since been retired, and you can’t even get the Bangor channels where I live. But television is still the siren that calls me onto the rocks of lethargy and slothfulness.
I am not alone. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, American children watch an average of three to fours hours of television daily, and by the time they reach seventy, they will have watched seven to ten years of television.1
As a parent, it is frightening to see how thoroughly television has invaded our lives. It is the background noise of existence. If our forefathers lived to the murmur of the forests or the drone of industry, our ambient noise is cable news, a laugh track, and an endless stream of ShamWow commercials.
Most modern criticism of television has focused on the effect that it has on younger viewers. Anyone who has seen a six-year-old stare, slack-jawed and droopy-eyed, at the screen for more than five minutes understands this concern. But how much time is lost by adults with that same glazed-over stare?
I am not, of course, advocating a ban on television. But somewhere between Dick Stacey’s Country Jamboree and American Idol, it occurred to me that at the very least I should feel guilty about my viewing habits. Other than a few memories of the famous people of Maine, what have I gained from watching TV? Certainly no one, Benjamin Franklin in particular, would call my TV viewing hours “industrious.”
And so, as part of my week of Industry, I decided to change my viewing habits. I thought that I might convince my family to join me, but coming so close on the heels of Frugality, I decided to avoid a family coup d’état and restrict this virtue to myself.
I also chose not to impose a complete prohibition. Mindful of one of the upcoming virtues, I decided to do this in Moderation. I resolved to limit my TV viewing to no more than one hour per day. I would use my time that had in the past been devoted to an absence of Industry to surround myself in a blanket of Franklin’s middle virtues. I would become industrious.
See these hands? These hands write books.
One Is the Loneliest Number
By the end of Day 1, I felt like I had the DTs.
Like many assessments of my capabilities, I badly overestimated my ability to withstand the lure of television. I assumed, given that I don’t watch that much television, that I would saunter through the day almost oblivious to my own commitment.
Oh, did I say I’d watch only an hour a day? I’d forgotten. Nothing to me really.
Ha! Never was an hour more thought about, never was unfettered access to a television more coveted. I was like an inmate waiting for telephone access. Every few seconds I reached for the remote, stopping only when I remembered that it was verboten. I was fidgety and anxious. Worse than that, rather than being a wedge in the door of Industry as I had hoped, my program of television abstinence was becoming a hindrance to any productivity. I thought that when not watching TV, I would be doing something useful. Instead, all my intellectual energy was being expended on trying not to think about the fact that I was not to be watching television. I felt like a crack addict in a convent.
Why was I having such difficulty? The answer was no real mystery. First, though I hadn’t opted for total abstinence, I had treated this too much like TV detox. Ben Franklin clearly knew the dangers of complete denial—as I thought I had when I planned for an hour of television a night. Notwithstanding that, I was acting as if even a momentary glance at the remote would turn me into stone. The self-denial made me covetous.
My second problem was a familiar { Industry need not wish.} one. Lack of preparation. I relied, to my detriment, on whatever had gotten me through the rest of my life—brains, chutzpah, cheese and crackers—to get me through my