Sesame Street

I am just finishing a great book, Street Gang, by Michael Davis, about the history of Sesame Street.  As I read, I was reminded of my own childhood.  I loved Sesame Street.  Unfortunately, I don’t think that my children (or the other children of their generation) are benefiting from Sesame Street in the same way that my sisters and I did.

My oldest sister was a preschooler herself when the first episodes aired.  My other sister watched in the early 70s and I tuned in in the late 70s and early 80s.  Big Bird and Kermit were my favorite Muppet characters, while Bob and Maria were my favorite humans.  And who could forget such gems as the pinball number count or the baker who fell down the stairs?  I learned my letters, numbers, and a handful of Spanish words.  Sesame Street, and in particular the Muppets, had such a profound effect on me that I cried when Jim Henson died–I felt like I’d lost family.

I do not for a moment claim that these early years were the best ones and the show was never again that good.  Those feelings are natural, but they are mere nostalgia.  In fact, Sesame Street remained consistently good enough that I occasionally tuned in all the way through high school.  The reality is that the Sesame Street of the new millennium really is not as good as in any other decade preceding.

What made Sesame Street great was not just the characters, or the simple situations, or the humor.  As a matter of fact, those things are still present in abundance for the better part of each episode.  I appreciate the addition of new and interesting characters, both Muppet and human.  As much as I loved the grown-up humans who populated the show during my early childhood, I think that it is great to see new, fresh faces.  Of the new Muppets, I particularly like Rosita, the Spanish-speaking, guitar-playing blue monster.

Bear with me, I need to sidetrack for a moment.  At our church, we’ve recently been talking about the concept of it.  Now, in church, that carries with it the understanding that the Holy Spirit is the source of it.  But there is such a thing as it in a secular sense, too.

Back to Sesame Street:  On the rare occasion I have allowed my kids to watch, I have had this sense that something is missing.  As I read and study more about this concept of it, I have come to realize that Sesame Street has lost it.  The mere fact that any one character has more than a third of the show devoted to himself is an indication that someone is trying too hard to recapture it.

I understand that lots of kids adore Elmo.  And I’m actually not picking on our poor, maligned red friend here.  As a matter of fact, I like Elmo.  Yes, you heard me right.  In small doses, he is a welcome friend.  Elmo has been around for many years.  We have a DVD entitled “The Best of Elmo.”  It really is Elmo at his best, and it represents what Elmo should be–a cute, furry,child-like Muppet who is learning about the world around him.  His duet with Ernie, “One Fine Face,” is a favorite song in our household, and his talk with Whoopi Goldberg about wanting to trade skin is pricelessly precious.

The problem is that Elmo has gone from student to teacher.  He now represents everything that is currently wrong with Children’s programming.  There is a pervasive mistrust of adults, an attitude that kids are right and adults are peripheral.  Not only that, but this child-centric (not child-centered) universe takes up nearly half of each episode, crowding out better material and greater opportunity for appropriate learning.

There was a time when Sesame Street was more than just another kiddie show.  It was smart, innovative, creative, and cutting edge.  Sesame Street, please return to your roots!  Get away from this new child-in-charge attitude; be different, like you once were, and give our kids a real reason to tune in.

Influencing Our Kids

I took the plunge.  I signed up on Last.FM.  As I was adding music to my library, I started thinking about who (and what) had influenced my taste in music.

When I was growing up, there was almost always something on the radio, stereo, or tape player.  I remember summers most vividly, spending 8 or 9 weeks listening to the strains of Mozart, Beethoven, and Bach from my grandfather’s shop.  He introduced me to opera, which I didn’t appreciate as a child, although I did grow to enjoy it.  My grandfather knew the names of all the pieces and often who was performing.  Sadly, like my mother, I often hear some piece of music and it sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.  Still, I love what most people loosely call “classical” music–both to play and to hear.

My grandmother had very little influence on my musical taste, although she did introduce me to some of my favorite country singers.  Similarly, my father’s taste in music left little impression.  My dad taught me to dance to the sounds of early rock ‘n’ roll: Buddy Holly, Bill Haley and the Comets, early Elvis.  Other than that, I don’t recall that my father ever listened to much.

My mother, on the other hand, had as varied taste in music as I do now.  She listened to everything from old-time gospel to folk music, opera to the Beatles.  Like my father, she enjoyed early rock.  But she also appreciated darker sounds of the 1960s.  When listening with my mom, I might hear the Beach Boys, or I might be in for Woody Guthrie or the Weavers.  Mom also enjoyed newer country music and through her I began to appreciate some of it as well.

My sisters both had an impact on my taste.  The older of my two big sisters introduced me to CCR, the Moody Blues, Elton John, and Billy Joel.  My other sister got me hooked on women’s folk music and alternative rock.  My cousin liked bands such as Metallica and REM, and we spent a good part of each summer enjoying whatever tapes he had brought along.

I remember enjoying some of what was popular among my peers for a short time when I was in school, but I never really got into pop music.  There are a few songs that I still enjoy from childhood, but very little has remained as a staple in my music diet.  It wasn’t until high school that I found myself really interested in what my friends were listening to.  Through my friends at church, I began to enjoy the likes of Amy Grant, Michael W. Smith, Sandi Patti, and Twila Paris.  Some of my friends had other interesting taste in music and through them I learned to appreciate Weird Al and They Might Be Giants.

I find myself now open to a wide variety of music.  I don’t necessarily have favorite artists so much as favorite songs.  I prefer songs that make me think and feel.  It isn’t just background noise, it’s an extension of myself in some way.

So what does all that have to do with parenting?  As I put together my library and recalled (mostly fondly) the people and the music that have shaped me, I realized that we now have the chance to do the same for our children.  My son already has the same relationship to music that I do; it’s in his blood.  For him, it is so natural to move to the music, to express with his body what he is hearing.  It might be a ballet to Rich Mullins’ “Awesome God” or interpretive dance to Jars of Clay’s “Flood.”  Watching him, I feel inside that intense longing that C.S. Lewis described as “joy.”  My daughter is still very young, but for her, it seems to be the message, the words, that she relates to.  Perhaps this is because she herself is already a proficient communicator.  I wonder what she will use that gift for.

In the end, my hope is that my children will grow to appreciate a wide variety of music, rather than locking themselves into one genre.  And I hope that, in some way, I will be part of that process.