Horowitz of TV Channel-Changing Upstaged by Mother

I think it’s relatively well documented that few things are more stressful in today’s world than trying to juggle the demands of a career against those of cable TV programming.

Sure, you want to do a good job at work and that means putting in a reasonable number of hours, but how can you justify working late when “Nick at Nite” offers such a consistently fine lineup of quality viewing? Yes, you ought to be out there roaming around and thinking about what makes Orange County tick but how can you until you see how Superman gets out of the vault with the Kryptonite in it?

Anyway, I’d been grappling with this balancing act for years, finally settling on a credo espoused by a friend who said his main goal in life was to be home on the couch and in his underwear every night by 6. I told him that sounded unrealistic until he reminded me that Reagan was the head of the Free World and he was off every night by 5.

Thus armed with both a credo and a remote control changer, I had pretty much perfected TV viewing in my little fiefdom. Simplifying things mightily is that I’ve long been Sole Director of Programming, and as any bachelor or frustrated wife can tell you, the remote control changer in the hands of an expert is a thing to behold. Leonard Bernstein looked like a fumble-fingers with his baton compared to the sight of a channel-changer in the hands of a guy who really knows how to use it.

Without bragging, let’s just say it’s a gift. Do you think it’s by accident that some people can switch over from the ballgame at a commercial, catch some action on the Discovery Channel and then switch back to the ballgame just as the commercial is ending?

Uh-uh! That ain’t luck, it’s skill. And practice, practice, practice.

Then, eight weeks ago, my parents arrived from Denver for a visit. From the outset, I had planned for a fairly lengthy visit and thought I had made all the necessary psychological preparations.

Loss of privacy? I could tough it out.

Change of routine? I could handle that.

Talk to other humans after 6 p.m.? Sure, I’d give it a try.

The one thing I overlooked was autonomy over the television. Like breathing, I had come to take my TV dominion for granted. Now, suddenly, there were three of us, all grabbing for the limited amount of air and air time.

I have to be fair to my parents. They’re basically unselfish and easygoing. OK, my mom is unselfish and easygoing.

Dad, bless his heart, doesn’t understand why everyone can’t buy into the Ball State-Central Michigan basketball game. Or why the six-round prelim fight between two unknown palookas shouldn’t take precedence over whatever those other silly stations might be showing.

But once the chloroform does its job and he’s slumped in the corner of the living room and resting comfortably, he’s not much of a factor.

So, it’s down to Mother and me. If there’s ever been a more accommodating human being, I haven’t met her. She gladly relinquishes the channel-changer and demurely sits on the sofa, either watching TV or perhaps working a crossword puzzle. Then she says those words I hate: “Watch anything you want.”

Oh, how clever. How diabolical.

I’m sitting in the rocker, fingering Old Betsy and fully aware of the range of programming at my disposal; painfully aware that were I alone I’d be scanning the dial with the speed of a Horowitz at the keyboard--a speed that would dazzle her because of her knowledge that she couldn’t hope to duplicate it herself.

And yet, I do nothing. I have the power and I do nothing.

I am a prisoner in my own home. I know my normal viewing habits would drive her crazy, and because she’s Mom, the woman to whom I owe everything, I spare her.

I settle on a program and stay with it. No darting to CNN, no leaping over to the 1940s movie on the American Movie Channel, no look-see at mating crickets on the National Geographic program. No cartoons, no hockey, no pledge drive on PBS, no MTV, VH-1, TBS, TNT, A&E; or USA--ALL IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE!!!

Dad starts to come to over in the corner. His first words, slurred in his semi-consciousness, are: “Where’s the channel-changer?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I snarl, whipping up another handkerchief surprise for him.

By now, I’m tapping the changer feverishly against my leg. It’s like having a loaded gun and not being able to shoot it.

“If you’d like to watch something else, go ahead,” Mom says sweetly.

“ Oh, sure, Mom, “ I think to myself.

But she can’t outlast me. She’s got to fall asleep sometime.

And when she does, the King will be rightly restored to his throne, all alone with his unbridled, unchallengeable and pathetic power and glory.