I remember my parents’ first remote control.

It was me.

You hear a lot about child labor laws and how working kids is against the rules. It’s cruel. It’s unusual. It’s punishment.

When I was a kid, we worked like pack mules, and we acted like we liked it. To act any other way would’ve been met with such caring phrases as: “Because I said so.” “I don’t care what Billy does, I’m not his parent.” And, “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

There’s a fella named Mike Rowe who’s out there these days speaking truths and getting paid a lot of money to do so. If you haven’t heard of him, open up your phone or computer, hop on that information superhighway, and drive on over to his website.

Mike’s take on things (and I’m taking great liberties here speaking on his behalf, so forgive me Mr. Rowe if you’re reading this) is essentially this: We avoid hard work anymore, and it’s a great big part of why our country isn’t meeting it’s full potential.

In other words, Americans, especially younger folks, don’t know what hard work is. And it’s hurting us.

I mentioned the TV remote. That was a joke, but it really wasn’t.

When was the last time you got out of a chair to change the television? If the dog ate your remote (which has actually happened at our house), could you even figure out how to change the channel on your TV? Or turn the volume up and down?

Don’t worry, you can. When the dog eats the remote, you have to unless you want to just watch the Lifetime Channel until a replacement remote shows up.

The TV remote didn’t become common until I left my parents’ home to live in my own place. I still believe that my dad slipped some cash to the designers at Zenith and RCA to keep remotes off the market until I moved out.

In 1960s and 70s America, if your parents wanted to watch something other than what was currently showing on the big screen (which was typically a 19-inch model), they told you to go change the channel.

If the signal wasn’t coming in too well, there was often an additional request to go outside and turn the antenna. The antenna-turning requests seemed to increase whenever there was a lightning storm in the area.

We didn’t have a remote control, but I found out they did exist.

The first TV remote I ever saw belonged to the Cornelius family who lived next door. The kids in the neighborhood had heard the rumor, so I gathered up the courage to knock on their door and ask Mrs. Cornelius if it was true.

“Yes,” she said. “We do have a TV with a remote control. But it’s old.”

“Old?” I thought? These people must be rich. They have a remote controlled television and in 1974, it was old?

She took me in to see the set. It was old. The remote control was half the size of a Chicago brick. But it worked.

Mrs. Cornelius turned on the set and we waited. Tubes had to warm up back then. And the way the channel got changed was way different than today.

After the set was working, you’d press one button on the remote. One. That’s all there was. When you pressed it, the channel-changing knob on the set would advance one channel.

Since there were only three channels in those days (ABC, CBS, and NBC), you had to wait for the channel to move ahead one, then hit it again. And again. And again. Until you got to the one you wanted.

It was reminiscent of me turning the antenna.

“OK, Johnny,” I’d hear through the window. “Turn the antenna a little more. A little more. A little more,” I’d hear. “No, wait. Too far.”

“What?” I’d say. “I can’t hear you for the thunder.”

But the Cornelius’ remote control television set gave me something to work toward. I knew that if I worked hard enough. And I could save enough. I could buy my parents a television set with a remote control.

So, I mowed yards. Raked leaves. Eventually, when I was 16, got a job in a restaurant. Then a radio station. And any other paying gig I could get.

My pennies turned to nickels, dimes, quarters, and then dollars. And when videocassette recorders came out, one year for Christmas, I bought my parents a new television with a remote, and a VCR.

Soon after, I became engaged. Got married. And moved out on my own.

As is the case when you’re paying your own rent and other bills, times were tight for us newlyweds. Neither she nor I had much, but our relatives were very generous with us.

My parents even gave me a TV. The one they didn’t need anymore since they had a new one with a remote control.

 

©2023 John Moore

John’s books, Puns for Groan People and Write of Passage: A Southerner’s View of Then and Now Vol. 1 and Vol. 2, are available on his website – TheCountryWriter.com, where you can also send him a message and hear his weekly podcast.