See what had happened was, for reasons numerous and varied, I absolutely despised going to daycare, and would just morosely pace around the perimeter of the playground for hours on end, waiting across aeons of perceived time to finally be rescued. Eventually other kids began to join me in my solemn parade. What a sight we must have been! A single file line of somber children slowly marching in loops around the playground again and again and again. Not sliding down slides, not swinging on swings, just walking in circles, doing time in a kindergarten prison camp. "What time are you getting picked up?" we'd ask each other.
One day I decided to take matters into my own hands and make my great escape, taking the school bus home instead of to daycare, and hiding out in the laundry room of our apartment building, as a manhunt was mobilized across the entire complex.
It wasn't long after that fiasco that I came home to see a mysterious "convertor" box attached to our television.
Out of the blue, 60 channels of crystal clear content at the touch of a remotely controlled button!
My mom explained to me that I didn't have to go to daycare anymore, and showed me which buttons I should hit on the remote when I got home from school, and that I could watch cartoons until either her or my brother got home.
Familial circumstances dictated that I would end up spending quite a lot of time alone growing up, and the TV picked up most of the slack in regards to my socialization. I was indeed very much raised by Television, as the cliche goes. Even eventually rebelling against it as a young man, and then reconciling, at a healthy distance, as I got older.
I remember feeling oddly emotional showing Gilligan's Island to my kids for the first time, as if I was introducing them to a beloved older relative, and/or taking them back to the old family farm.
"This is where I come from"
