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For reasons I
don’t fully understand, our kids always seem to end up at my side of the
mattress with their late-night dilemmas. This might be anything from a sore
throat to a scary noise, but it seems I’m the parent of choice between midnight
and 6 a.m.
I suspect this
has more to do with my wife’s pre-coffee demeanor than any gift of compassion I
might have, but so it is. Thus it was no great surprise some years ago to awake
to find Boy-Child, then 7, sobbing quietly at my bedside.
“What’s wrong,
son” I muttered with leaden tongue.
“I, I, I, sk,
sk, sk ...”
“You’re
scared?” I asked, slowly wakening.
“I, I, I, dr,
dr, dr ...”
“A dream? What
about?”
“Er, Er, Er
...” he stammered.
“Ernest?”
“Yeah!” he
blurted, then dissolved into tears.
I knew who he
meant: the “Know-whut-I-mean, Vern?” character of actor Jim Varney. Drowsy
though I was, I had enough of my fatherly instinct about me to choke down the
laughter fighting its way out of my gut; the boy clearly needed comfort, not
scoffing. But Ernest?
We had rented
the relentlessly moronic “Ernest Sacred Stupid” that night, a PG rated send-up
of horror movies. Neither of the kids had seemed at all frightened, laughing
and groaning their way to the predictable, campy end. I have stopped more than
one movie or television show midway because I didn’t like what I saw, but my
remote-control trigger finger hadn’t so much as twitched.
After a couple
of weeks of on-and-off nightmares, my son (and I) finally managed to get through
the night Ernest-free. We laugh about it now, but in retrospect the episode
makes me wonder how often we might be affected by our entertainment choices in
unpredictable ways.
The issue has
become a matter of no small debate on the heels of increasing reports of movie,
music, and video game inspired mayhem. Whether it’s school shootings or
horrific cases like the Los Angeles teens convicted of stabbing one’s mother to
death in an attack they said was inspired by the “Scream” films, many Americans
are professing greater concern about the effects of violent entertainment.
Yet an
Associated Press poll released last month found that only 40 percent of adults
would be less likely to see a film if they knew it contained violence, compared
to 60 percent a decade ago. Just a third cited violence as the biggest problem
with today’s movies, about the same number who noted the price of tickets.
Several
measures to restrict access to violent movie fare are being considered in
Congress, and President Clinton has suggested that Hollywood is at least partly
responsible for a more casual acceptance of violence among youth. He also urged
theater owners to enforce rules restricting those under 17 from seeing R-rated
films without a parent or guardian. In response to the pressure, the National
Association of Theatre Owners recently started a campaign to do just that,
implementing a national ID-check policy.
I don’t know
that this is exactly where I want the president of the United States spending
much of his time. In any event, anything Bill Clinton says must be taken with
an ocean of salt, particularly as it involves an industry so generous to his
campaigns and causes. Still, I’m beginning to think he and other critics have a
point.
Long-time
readers may recall that I have not always felt this way, and I still oppose
government control over the discretion of adults in such matters. But from car
safety seats and compulsory education to driver’s licenses and voting rights, we
have long set limits on youth for their own good. Maybe it’s time to act again.
Or maybe it’d
be a complete waste of time. Either way, restrictions aren’t likely to do much
good as long as most adults have no qualms about movie carnage for themselves.
By our own insincerity and bad example we will invalidate any attempt to keep
kids away, a consequence that is not so unpredictable.
Know-whut-I-mean?
© 1997 – 2002 Brent Morrison
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