I took my three year old to the cinema this weekend for the first time. Sorta a fathers day thing. After getting tickets, popcorn and carcongenic slurpee equivalents and taking out a second mortgage on my house to pay for all this frivolity, I then had to explain to my daughter, having never seen one before, what a commercial was (which was actually kinda difficult).
What a time to be alive.
Gone are the dark days when your twenty minutes of Saturday morning Thundercats (trying to think of something suitably eightees) was interjected (at the most critical juncture in the storyline) with ten minutes of psychological warfare and subliminal messaging. All hail Netflix!
Maybe you also remember those TV test pattern thingies. I suppose depending how old you are, that could mean color swatches… or I suppose (if you are nearing the end of your lifespan now) an Indian head…
For my kids the equivalent of that is a spinning progress indicator…
Never will my daughter have to experience the rage of your sibling taping over your VHS of carefully curated BraveStarr episodes with My little Pony (when they got to witness a real life version of ‘strength of the bear!’) Nor will they ever have to watch an entire series of Ducktales or Robotech out of sequence.
I worry that this will make them somehow a weaker generation, having not had to suffer like I did.