(This is the third post in our new series, “The Tantrum,” in which each of our four regulars will address one subject over the course of a week. Read the previous ones here and here.)

Eh, not so bad.

I suppose I should start by saying that I’m lucky in this regard. JP doesn’t really care much about television. He’ll ask for a cartoon once in a while, and he’s not much into my football, and he won’t sneeze at a bit of Curious George, but at this stage he’s much more into playing with his toys and drawing. So TV’s not on my mind much.

When he was a baby, I guess the idea was that his watching should be limited. We were gonna raise him on classical music, NPR and raw-milk cheese from the jump. That lasted until he was a year old and I needed a minute or two of sanity in the morning. A conscious decision was made: we would hook him on Sesame Street. And it worked, too. We would plug him into the tube for half an hour while we ate breakfast (and argued; we split up not long after this period), and all seemed right with the world. Then he got bored of it.

As a general rule, I imagine having a rule on something like this is counterproductive. Each kid is different, all things in moderation, etc. Plus I feel weird about getting biblical about television when my flat-screened friend is exactly the one I’m turning to after JP goes to sleep.

I know this is all kind of boring, but parenthood is filled with false controversies designed to make us feel bad about ourselves. It’s why alcohol was created.

So long as the kid hands over the remote when I’m watching, and he sees sunlight once a day, I’m neutral on the topic.

(Next up: A couch-potato confesses.)