“I’m the freaking boss of TV, just so you know.”

I’ve made no little secret about the fact that growing up, as I did, the television was not the center of the universe. Not in our house. It was carefully guarded: it and all its wonders of delicious and suggestive programming. The only television station that I was allowed to watch, almost entirely on my own and un-chaperoned, was good, old PBS.

And, oh, how I watched it: Letter People, Clyde the Frog, Voyage of the Mimi, and one of my all-time faves, Read All About It.

Even learning, early on, how to convince U.L. that some shows were appropriate—How could they not be; “It was on PBS, right?”—when I knew they probably weren’t. These shows ran the gamut from some particular episodes of Dr. Who all the way to the very chancy, risk-taking, anything-goes Nova.

I’ve also made no little secret to my rather unhealthy and confusing relationship with the television, that began Way Back When.

One that continues to this day.

As a child, for instance, I thought Mr. Rogers asked his very pointed questions because he fully expected an answer. Many are the moments that U.L. walked in on me and the TV.

What appeared, at first glance, to be a young technophile’s attempt at French kissing the television screen was, sadly, my pre-pubescent and misguided effort to scoot as close to the TV as possible and carry on a conversation with Mr. Rogers.

His success rate at “guessing” correctly what any normal child would have said in response to “Won’t you be my neighbor?” did nothing but encourage me.

And yet, I was not tube-glued.

I didn’t have to watch television. It wasn’t an obsession…yet. (I’m not sure that watching the TV ever has been the actual obsessive part of it, anyway.)

I mean, please, let’s not forget: I was the child who asked for a chalkboard for his eighth birthday with the retractable metal chalk holder so I wouldn’t get my fingers dirty. Until I was thirteen, I unofficially educated every stray child and stuffed animal in my neighborhood, using my oldest sister’s discarded college textbooks. I may have struggled in teaching them both long division and the importance of cancelling by nines, but I was adamant that they know front-to-back the first five chapters in The Psychology of Reading.

My pop quizzes were hell.

But, back to the TV.

It began innocently enough, my slow and gradual need for the small screen. As I began to wean myself from educational programming, a feat of daring-do, I discovered that the rest of the world of television was not one bit interested in teaching children…or teaching, period.

They didn’t care who was watching; they just wanted to keep you watching.

It worked on me.

My first venture away from PBS led me to two shows in particular that have scarred me to this day: Dallas and the Golden Girls.

Though I blame the Golden Girls, mostly.

Among many other Things I Misunderstood About TV Programming That Wasn’t Educational, I naively thought that each television show that had a catchy theme song, with lyrics, was sung by a member of the cast, like most of PBS’ children’s shows.

I held this belief firmly until I was easily in my early 20s. Even after I was told that that was preposterous.

 I kept pretending it wasn’t.

It became a game. (I also pointed out that sometimes, it was also the truth—Ja’Net Dubois, of Good Times fame, wrote and sang the theme song to The Jeffersons. And let’s not even get started on the obvious vocals behind All in the Family and Gimme a Break).

But, this theory didn’t hold water for other sitcoms and serials, though, for years, I swore Rue McClanahan sang the opening to Golden Girls, and I gave full, 100% props to Loni Anderson for WKRP in Cincinnati.

And where shows like Knight Rider and Dallas and Knots Landing had no lyrics, I instead envisioned which stars were most likely the ones playing the instruments during the opening credits, sitting in the studio recording the very music that stirred us to the emotional minefields of their respective plots: the dangers of Texas greed, the pitfalls of suburban lust, and the desire to solve crimes while wearing epidermal jeans and a patent-leather jacket.

My results? William Daniels (the voice of KITT) obviously played a mean synthesizer. He was half-robot, anyway. Hands down, Victoria Principal for Dallas. I mean, she looks like she could handle an entire brass section, all by herself, eyes closed. And who else but Michelle Lee? Hm? I mean, really, who else? Although, had I given Michelle a sick-leave day, her stand-in would be, Joan Van Ark.

I think you know why.

Eventually, this game faded…as it didn’t really give you many alternatives.  But not before it planted the seed of obsession.  Because the only way the game could continue was by “acquiring” new TV shows.

By the time that took hold, within me, I was hooked. I was also a teenager, by then, who no longer needed drab and senseless plotlines and games. Instead, I had developed “crushes” and was in search of relatable characters who could “show me the way.” Sadly, I didn’t find many.

Not on rural television in the backwash of Mississippi.

I didn’t start my serious orbit around the sun that is now my Sony 40”, until I was past the embarrassment of high school and feathered hair.

Ah, TV.

I’m not sure if it’s because it was so off-limits during my childhood or if, as I’m perhaps a little more inclined to think, it became a safety, a comfort, to have the noise in the background. I often fall asleep with the TV on, simply because it fills the space, with me. As if I’m at a party, and just…well…I guess I got bored with everyone there and fell asleep, but the point is it makes me feel a little less lonely.

Even when I’m not feeling alone.

And now, you know, I have to admit, at 33, I think I realize the national obsession people have with the small screen. Maybe even why U.L. was so reluctant to let it be so much a part of our daily routine.

It’s why people feel they are “kings (and queens) of their castles.”

The power.

The power of that remote control. The power to choose your entertainment.  The luxury of having broken hearts, murders, crimes, and rumors introduced and resolved in the course of an hour or less.

It’s convenient, fictional, and safe. (Like most Power.)

I can mute them, I can change channels, I can even freeze live TV thanks to Tivo and DVR. 

Which makes me, like, the boss of TV and all the people who live in it.

I’m the freaking boss of TV.

But don’t worry: I still read.

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