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MOM
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CULTURE:
In Search of Kiddie Stoners
by Marrit
Ingman
I’m all about teaching our children to reverse the destruction of Earth, but does it have to involve this animal, whose shrieking voice is like a shiv to the kidney? I hear it and fall down, staggering.
Memo to PBS: We want to help, but please give us more big, lovable stoners. Gentle, friendly stoners that help children calm down.
I grew up with Easy Reader, who was surely a stoner. The way he’s always delighted with everything, the way he buys a soda at Vi’s Diner so he can read the label. “Groovy, baby!” It looks like the height of freedom: imagine traipsing around a late-70s New York City in a fringed vest, just reading stuff, slapping people five. And you’re Morgan Freeman. That has to be awesome.
Like me at age five, my son also responds well to soothing stoner figures. He’s a Pisces and will absorb any mood nearby. He is emotional tofu. He covers his eyes whenever there’s a race on The Saddle Club because he can’t stand the suspense. He doesn’t seek frantic entertainment, and it’s all the same to me since I’m a little jumpy myself. We need slow-moving shit with no explosions.
I was initially skeptical of It’s a Big Big World, a preschool nature show which combines puppetry and CGI in a happily artificial-looking and apparently expensive process underwritten by Sony—but then I realized it has a wonderful kids’ TV stoner: Snook the Sloth. I took to that guy immediately. I wanted to tweak his succulent, felted pink nose and sleep on him as if he were a hammock.
“Heeeeeyyyyy,” said Snook. “You’re baaaaaaaack.”
“Dude, you are the greatest sloth ever,” I replied.
Overall the show isn’t great. One of the animals gets some crazy idea easily explained by Madge the turtle, and there are some songs. It’s okay. We learn that fish have slimy bodies and mammals are live-born, stuff like that.
But Snook? That guy’s awesome.
When Bob the anteater is afraid of his echo, Snook stays calm. When Smooch the marmoset wants to move to a new habitat, Snook stays calm. When Burdette decides she wants to be the queen of the tree, Snook stays calm. Snook stays calm, takes naps, and eats chocolate-covered eucalyptus leaves. Snook is a great big furry lovable stoner. He needs to share some of what he’s having with that EekoCreature--as long as it’s organic and fair trade. A defender of the Earth, Snook rolls like that.
(continued at right)
Far too obvious is Dragon Tales, a
traditionally animated show not unlike Tommy for preschoolers. Dragon
Tales is what happens when you take it too far beyond prosocial
values—bilingual songs about cleaning your room and taking turns—and into
a running story about children whose special wallpaper, which appears
to be dragon-shaped blotter, transports them into a magical otherworld full
of talking flowers and unicorns and Jugglebugs and shit. I was not surprised
to discover that a place called Mushroom Meadows exists in Dragon Land. To get there, the children grasp a glowing rock and chant, which is not
entirely wholesome, and then they escape reality for what appears to be
several consecutive hours without even telling their parents they’re
leaving. Generally it transpires as such: ONE KID: Yay! We’re home from
school. Want to play blocks? OTHER KID: Nah. My tower fell down
last time. ONE KID: Want to go to Dragon Land? OTHER KID: Sure! Sometimes Emmy and her brother Max
(who is three years old, people) tune in and drop out shortly after
waking. I don’t mean to sound judgmental.
I’d probably be licking the wallpaper and grasping rocks to get to Dragon
Land if I were a fictional character and all I had ever to do was play in my
room until dinner was ready. But I think things are a little out of control
for Max and Emmy and their new bilingual neighbor Enrique, who was introduced
to the show amidst PBS-sized controversy and picked up the dragon habit right
away. They should all play outside on Earth for a while. Meanwhile, Buster isn’t even
allowed to visit lesbian farmers in Vermont. We’re so busy fighting the culture wars that we may be too late to help
Max and Emmy. Oh, yeah. Enrique, too. I would discourage Dragon Tales
in the house but for one mitigating factor, my weakness: the show has a
delightful TV stoner, a beacon of herbal tranquility penetrating the show’s
air of meth-addled hypercuteness. I love Ord. I love his eyes. I love his little
toofers, his rusty-gate voice, his tiny wings and his big belly, as puffy and
corrugated as a catcher’s chest protector. “All these arts and crafts
made me hungry!” he wails, despondent before remembering that he has a
“hoard” in his abdomen—and it’s always packed with dragonberries he
can pull out and eat! Awesome! He’s not the quickest thinker, and
he’s a little paranoid about stuff—like thunder and losing his
blanket—but he wants so much to be brave, and he’s basically good and
kind. That’s the kind of magical imaginary stoner guy I want in my kid’s
village.
Other possible stoners: Charlie’s
dad on Clifford, most likely. Martin
Kratt but not Chris.
The creators of Franny’s Feet.
Buster’s
dad but not his
mom. Abuela
Elena bakes it. Bob
Keeshan probably woke up with the Captain, if you know what I mean. The
Teletubbies were not stoners; they were babies, part baby and part
television, which I can’t quite figure out because the British just do
drugs differently. Earlier I thought of another really obvious one, but then
I forgot. So far it’s not coming back.
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About the Author:
Marrit Ingman is a freelance writer, film critic,
occasional educator, and constant mother. She is a
frequent contributor to the Austin Chronicle, and her
writing on popular culture has also appeared in Brain, Child, Fertile
Ground, Alternet.org, Clamor, and Venus. Her first book,
Inconsolable: How I Threw My
Mental Health out with the Diapers, describes her
experience with postpartum depression and was
published in 2005 by Seal Press.
