When I was pregnant and found out that we were having a boy, I decided that I wouldn’t want him to play with toy guns. It seems to me that child’s play should model positive behaviors. I am feeling a bit hypocritical, however.
I, like many other loyal viewers, was eagerly awaiting the series finale of The Sopranos. Granted my little peanut is only 10 months old and isn’t watching television with us, but shouldn’t I be leading by example? I find myself justifying my Sopranos-addiction in my head — I watch because of the storyline, the conflict, the characters, and I tend to cover my eyes during any whacking scenes anyway — but they sound like hollow excuses and any pre-teen boy would easily be able to expose the holes in my argument.
I know I won’t be able to isolate my peanut from violence — we live in a violent world. We’re a country at war, our media still adheres to an “If it bleeds, it leads” strategy, and the movie industry has come so far with its special effects technology that we practically congratulate them for creating realistic looking explosions and gun shot wounds. As a parent, I hope I can create a safe environment for my peanut to grow up and learn compassion, feel hope and experience joy to balance the reality that surrounds us. I hope that the most violence he encounters is a raucous game of dodge ball.
Just as I crawled through the house on my hands and knees looking for any potential dangers to my very curious baby, I suppose I have to take a hard look at my own habits — what I eat, what I say, what I watch. At least I don’t have to worry about The Sopranos anymore. David Chase took care of that for me. Now if only David Chase could do something about my sweet tooth…