Elmo: Devil or Saint?

There is a thin line between good and evil.  I know.  I have my toe on that line.

Take Elmo for instance...innocent plaything...or floppy dishrag from hell?

I honestly hadn’t thought all that much about Elmo until recently when we decided to  lift our ban on Peanut watching television at home.  Well, not television exactly.  Peanut is now allowed to watch YouTube on my iPad, which some may argue is much worse.  

Up until now, we have strictly followed the American Academy of Pediatrics recommendation that children under two not watch any television.  This is actually not an easy feat given that there are televisions everywhere...malls, restaurants, elevators, hotels, and even the occasional restroom.

Like many kids, we knew Peanut was fascinated by technology.  We have this great video of her walking around the house “texting” on my old Blackberry, and in addition to the iPad, she loves phones, controllers, even the computer mouse...anything remotely technology based.

A couple of weeks ago we were going through our bi-monthly nail cutting debacle (who knew it would take two grown adults to gently clip the nails of a 30 pound toddler), when it occured to us to distract her by letting her fool around with the iPad.  Well, one thing led to another and before we knew it she was watching Elmo bop around to “Elmo’s Song” on YouTube, looking vaguely like a strung out crack addict (Elmo - not Peanut).

The iPad routine worked so well, I decided to use it during the daily hair routine (usually accompanied by moaning and choruses of “no daddy” as I try to rake a wide tooth comb through Peanut’s hair).  But once Elmo makes an appearance, it’s like magic.  I could be ripping knots from her scalp and she wouldn’t even notice, so engrossed while Elmo plucks away at a guitar, singing about his four ducks quacking together, or cavorting around the screen with Katy Perry in the censored albeit very funny cover of her song, “Hot and Cold” (some people take cleavage way too seriously, check out the story here).

But things took a turn for the worse when Peanut started asking for Elmo.  Not asking...insisting.  And I find myself saying things like, “If you aren’t a nice girl and let me change your diaper/get you dressed/wash your face/brush your teeth, you won’t get to watch Elmo while I brush your hair.” And it works!  But why does it make me feel bad?

Which leads me to think that this whole Elmo thing has been a slippery slope - one video here, two videos there - it feels like a gateway drug to full television exposure.  Which makes Elmo Peanut’s pimp.

So maybe Elmo is the devil?  Let’s look at the facts:

Elmo is red.  So is the devil.
Elmo has that weird laugh, like a circus clown hopped up on helium.  Is it the infectious giggle of a happy red muppet, or the sound the devil makes as he condemns you to an eternity of hellfire and damnation?  Too close to tell.

And as far as I know, Elmo doesn’t have a last name and neither does the devil.  Case in point?

This reminds me of a story about my sister: when she was in junior high school, she was obsessed with Elmo.  Her room was chock full of all sorts of Elmo-esque paraphernalia: dolls, books, toys, pillows, sheets, the works.  My mother has always been supportive of our various hobbies (ask me some time about my I Love Lucy doll collection), so my sister’s room was awash in all things Elmo.  Anyway, one of our rights of passage as kids was taking a trip to San Francisco to see our aunt, uncle, and cousin.  On her trip, my sister decided to bring a small Elmo plush doll  with her.  Her first morning there, she awoke and was unable to find Elmo.  Searching high and low, she came up empty handed.  When my sister asked my aunt if she had seen Elmo, she was confused.  What was Elmo?  So my sister proceeded to describe him as a small, red guy, furry...to which my aunt responded, in all seriousness, “You see devil?”
See...I am not the only one who thinks Elmo is the devil.

Meanwhile, we have made a deal with the devil because I have no intention of forgoing the iPad during the morning hair routine.  If Elmo is the pimp, then he has me hooked, too.  And I just can’t give him up.

Maybe we should switch to Grover?

"The Help", civil rights, and me

I saw "The Help" today.  Or more accurately, I cried my way through "The Help" today.  All two hours, seventeen minutes of it.  Even now, almost eight hours later, my emotions are still raw.  It was more than just the film (although the film was quite good - and the cast and crew did a brilliant job).  My tears were both a response to the horrible injustice of segregation in the United States, and the ongoing impact it continues to have in modern America.  And while the director made a clear attempt to end the film on a hopeful note, I walked away quite depressed.  We may have come a long way, but we aren't where we should be.


I originally read "The Help" around the time Peanut was 4 months old.  I had heard Kathryn Stockett interviewed on NPR, and I was intrigued by the topic.  We had never had an African American maid (or a maid at all, for that matter...my parents believed in "child labor"), but I had been thinking a lot about race relations in the United States, the legacy of Jim Crow and segregation, and the impact on my African American daughter being raised by two white men.  


So over the course of three nights (while we were sleep training Peanut the first time, don't ask) I devoured the book whole.  It was riveting.  And depressing.  And shocking.  I remember distinctly calling my mother to grill her about the civil rights movement just after I finished the book.  She had been living in Los Angeles, not Mississippi, but she was 22 when Martin Luther King Jr. was shot, so I thought she might have some reflections to share with me.  Unfortunately, my mother had little to share, admitting she was never very political and hadn't really been aware/involved.  


"The Help" has been one of several books I read in the last year about African American history.  Coinciding with Peanut's adoption, I became very interested in African American history.  Like many book club readers, I cringed in disbelief as I made my way through "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks", a non-fiction book about a poor African American women whose cells were used to advance science in multiple ways, but was never informed about her "contribution" (and her family never received any compensation for her "donation").  I read "The Idiots Guide to African American History" for a broad overview of the African American experience in the US.  And I read other books like "The Help" and "Little Bee" that delve into the complex relationship between whites and blacks at different times in the last sixty years.  All along I heard a small voice in my head - the voice of my eleventh grade history teacher, telling me that all people are racist - as I considered the long term effects of slavery and segregation on interracial relations today.  I won't deny that things have gotten better - but we still have a long way to go.  Consider these statistics that I found from a quick web search:


-According to the Pew Research Center, the median wealth of white households is 20 times that of black households.
-According to the Children's Defense Fund, 11.1% of white children are poor, while 39.9% of black children are poor.

-According to the US Bureau of Justice Statistics non-Hispanic blacks accounted for 39.4% of the total prison and jail population in 2009, but as of 2010, blacks (including Hispanic blacks) only comprised 12.6% of the US population.

-In 2009 black non-Hispanic males were incarcerated at the rate of 4,749 inmates per 100,000 U.S. residents of the same race and gender. White males were incarcerated at the rate of 708 inmates per 100,000 U.S. residents. 
-African Americans account for 43% of all persons with HIV/AIDS (among women, the number jumps to 56%), a startling statistic given that blacks are just 12.6% of the total US population.


The list goes on.


"The Help" is more than just an abstract (and appalling) history lesson.  It is personal, especially as I think about my daughter, my sweet daughter, the daughter that I love more than words can say, an African American girl being raised in a home by two gay white men.  I'll be honest: I walked out wondering what the impact of the world of "The Help" will have on her, if any.

And I was wondering if we are doing Peanut a disservice in some way.  Is our adoption of Peanut just another way of taking something away from an African American person?  Sure, Peanut's mother decided to make an adoption plan, but if she had the access to the education and resources that I was fortunate to have, maybe she would have been able to make a different decision.  


And beyond that - what will I say to Peanut when she asks me about racism, about civil rights. About why Martin Luther King was shot and who were the KKK.  About the terrible, horrible things white people have done to black people and the legislated inequality - and the legacy of that hate and division.  Will she still look at me as the daddy she loves?  Or will my fair skin make me a representation of all the evil that has been done to the African American people by whites?  


And am I, like my eleventh grade teacher said, a racist like everyone else?


My mother saw the movie last weekend, and when I spoke with her today I discovered that she also had a strong reaction to the film, dripping with tears as the final credits rolled.  She said the film brought back tender memories of her grandmother's African American maid, Daisy.  


So I sit here - thinking of Aibileen and Minny and Constantine - the fictional representations of slavery and inequality in the US courtesy of Miss Stockett and "The Help" - riving myself crazy with questions and tearing up intermittently.    And while I can't yet answer most of my burning questions - what I can do is hold my daughter close to my chest, shower her in kisses and hugs, and make sure she knows how much daddy loves her.  It may not solve any social problems, but it sure does make me feel better.

Wow - and she can tell the future, too!

Bachmann: I'll bring back $2 gas - Aug. 18, 2011

If only I had the gift to tell the future like she does.