Even as I write this, I can feel several over protective moms cringing at every word they read and hating me with all they’ve got. A few of them might even declare me as everything that’s wrong with today’s generation. Unfettered and unperturbed by their hate, I shall continue to write in the only way I know how.
So, with that mandated disclaimer out of the way and my a** covered with a thick layer of oblivion, I’ll get to the much awaited point. But before I do that, I must warn you; or to put it mildly, inform you that I am in no conceivable position to profess that I watched uncensored television complete with Stacey’s mom and Sharon Stone’s magnificent crotch as a prepubescent pervert and if I didn’t know better (which is to say that it was much later that I learnt in biology that puberty is inevitable and I didn’t bring it upon myself like I was convinced for a long time) and yet, I turned out just fine. No Sir! Not for one second have I or anyone who knows me has ever perceived me as fine, let alone just fine. But the aforementioned mom and the adjacent to aforementioned crotch did play a significant and indispensible role in making me the person that writes this today. As you may now have gained some insight into the ill-kept secret that my imagination is anything but constrained, I still cannot picture a life for me that didn’t include in some way the vast and blatant show of sex on television that I witnessed as a child. My parents would not have approved of it, my conscience did not condone it, I even kept it from my peers. It was one of my first really dirty secrets. These were the days when even my penis didn’t know how to appropriately respond (not to brag but that little fellow was a quick learner and is protesting vehemently at being referred to as little) to what my eyes were seeing.
I later learnt that what I saw on TV was only a fragment of reality. Naked, off-putting reality. Enter internet pornography. Would I have discovered porn anyway? Most definitely so. So where do I get off justifying that me watching those explicit sex scenes on HBO with as much genitalia that can be seen without actually showing any did me any good? Valid point. I’ll counter that with this very plausible hypothesis – You know how you warm up before a run otherwise you pull a muscle? I was merely warming up. Just think of this – I hit puberty, discover porn, watch it and get so hooked on to it that I ruin my life to a pathetic pornography addiction. Possible? No?
But no. I was no sprinter. I was running a marathon. I had to prep up, bone up (no pun intended). TV was my coach. A hard, unforgiving predator of a coach. Did I watch sexual content on TV compulsively? No. I exercised my prepubescent discretion. At a very early age, I trained myself to keep it in my pants and patiently wait for night to fall. Maybe all kids don’t possess the will that I did but why should the ones who do be deprived of sex? Does that seem fair at all? I think not. Kids need to learn how they were manufactured. They need to warm up before the run. Don’t be soft on them. Don’t cut out the sex scenes. God forbid some day he kisses a girl and doesn’t know that it’s a free pass to honk some boob while he’s at it. Our kids don’t deserve to see such a day.
Seriously though, so what if our kids watch just a little bit of sex on TV? I think its gonna do more good than harm.