Are We There Yet?
Fighting for the right to learn as little as possible
Lori Clinch

Although today's experts contend that TV is the ruination of our beloved nation, I have to admit that I still enjoy a good bout in front of the tube.

I like sitcoms, hard-to-believe dramas, and an occasional comedic look at the skinny housewives on Wisteria Lane.

My beloved spouse, on the other hand, likes documentaries. While I'm entertained with the whimsical and the comical situations that life can throw our way, Pat adores historical shows, educational programming, and any handy guy's How to Do It guide for self-starters and people with hammers.

Basically, he likes to learn.

If a person were to watch TV with me, they would be inclined to grab popcorn and a blanket. Meanwhile, Pat's fellow viewers should come equipped with a pencil and tablet so they can take notes for the test that seems likely to follow.

He's a man with a passion for wisdom. When he's not marveling at the heroic feats of men with machinery, his TV time is filled with other educational possibilities.

From my perspective, his TV watching is nothing more than a lot of steel, technology and investigative studies - all painstakingly documented so that spouses around the world can be bored and ignored for decades to come.

I've suffered with that man through bridge building, deep-sea documentaries and in-depth analyses on navigational systems. I've been forced to learn about heroic feats from visionary architects and seen firsthand the drama that unfolds during the incubation of an Indonesian cockatoo.

Now there's a feather for one's hat of wisdom.

I suppose, given ample time, I could become interested in animal husbandry, stock market analyses, and lifelong comparisons of today's building codes versus that of the ancient Romans, but my beloved Pat isn't quite satisfied simply studying iron ore and ancient cultures alone.

Oh, shoot, no!

The man must continually surf the other 560 channels - just in case something more interesting is on one of those. Heaven forbid that the Discovery Channel is airing the latest developments on the ancient exploration of prehistoric amoebas and he should miss it.

Why, he'd shudder to think.

Perhaps it's time to face it. Candlelit moments and promises of help with the dishes have been replaced - exchanged for evenings spent examining the challenges of Man vs. the Extreme and any guru with a series to call his own who is willing to teach.

Therefore, I decided last week that I've learned enough about the construction of the Hoover Dam to get me by for a while. I came to the conclusion that although the erection of the pyramids was amazing and certainly worth recognition, I've learned more about pharaohs and mummification than I ever needed to know. And although I'm not one to brag, I've already forgotten more about the life cycles of the African pygmy goose than most people are forced to absorb in a lifetime.

So, I gave up my comfy chair and I spent the better part of the next week watching TV in the kitchen. Curled up on a barstool with a dishcloth and a bowl of pork rinds, I took in the latest episodes of all of my favorite programs. I watched sitcoms at length, cried through real-life dramas, and ran the remote control like it was my job.

Then, just last night, I passed by the family room and peered in to see my husband happily nestled in his overstuffed cushions and fitfully dozing to a historical documentary on the Old West. Although I did not long to spend even a single second being taught anything, I did kind of miss the comfort that my overstuffed chair had offered me.

I decided to take matters into my own hands as I crept around the corner like a cat on the prowl. As my husband slouched on the couch, I began the process of slipping the remote out of his hand without disturbing him. While the narrator painstakingly chronicled the life and times of Jesse James, I slipped the clicker from his clutches with all of the finesse of a modern-day Calamity Jane pulling the jail cell's only key from the dozing deputy's belt.

I then slithered over to my old comfy chair, pulled a blanket up to my chin and changed the channel to one of those mindless sitcoms that he so despises. We were watching TV together and he was not learning a thing. If he had known, he would have been appalled. But he slept through it, and I'm pleased to announce that he survived it.

That'll teach him.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch.com.