Kiah Conway | Childhood TV
Short nonfiction from the coalitionist mixed bag.
Terra Nova
Friday nights were ours.
Dad would come home from picking Mom up from work, and head straight to his room. I knew I had to wait until after dinner before I could even think about entering it. He would be setting up our latest one season show obsession.
We’d lay our heads at the end of his bed. I’d steal his bamboo fiber pillow, squishy enough to conform into the proper height for a headrest. It smelled of the right kind of cigarette smoke - the Marlboro Menthol cigarettes that came in a green box. He’d rest his head in his hands or use the extra pillow in the room. We’d wrap ourselves up in his thin beige blanket that his mom had gifted him. It would hang off the top of his feet, barely skimming the top of mine as our feet dangled in the air.
At some point in the night he would start to slightly snore. His snores would rumble and mix with the sounds from the TV that it seemed impossible to have one without the other. The center of his forehead would be wrinkled with a frown and I’d take my thumb and smudge it out. It would take a minute before his forehead was smooth, his face coming to a point of relaxation. I would wait until the episode was over before I turned off the TV.
In the dark all I could hear was his breathing. Occasionally, he’d stop breathing and I would press my head against his chest to hear his heartbeat. His next inhale would be sharp and long, pulling air into his lungs and setting his heart to beat faster. He’d wrap his arm around me and I’d try to match my breathing to his, eventually wriggling around until he was no longer breathing into my face, afraid I would only be inhaling his carbon dioxide and not getting enough clean oxygen.
In the morning we would continue where we left off, until it was dinner time. Then it was Marisah’s turn.
Legend of the Seeker
Sunday nights were calming.
Sometimes I’d watch as Mom folded clothes. Every item looked uniform and neat, drastically different from the way Marisah and I refolded our clothes. I’d wait for my pile of clothes to start wobbling before carrying it into my room and stuffing it into my drawers.
Most of the time, Mom braided my freshly washed hair. She lathered the damp curls with leave-in conditioner and combed it through. The comb would scrape against my scalp as she made rows of parts, dabbing oil onto my head. There would be a glob of gel on the back of her hand as she separated each parted square into three and braided them, pulling slightly, creating tension, perfect for tight braids. I would raise my head to get a glance at the screen, only for her to push my head back down again.
The TV played the normal Sunday night shows, changing from EyeWitness News to Legend of the Seeker. I would only see glimpses of corseted women and shirtless men fighting with swords. The plot was annoying to follow without seeing everything but it was entrancing.
When she was done, she’d tighten a silk scarf over my head and send me off to bed.
Gilmore Girls
Instead of summer camp, we had our couch and a TV. Instead of camp counselors or babysitters, we had the Gilmores. We had a theme song and scenes to memorize instead of participating in arts and crafts or making friends.
We’d open the chunky hard plastic of our mom’s season one DVD set. The cardboard that held the case together was torn from rough usage. The background was the color of a sunset in the middle of autumn, with images of the characters dressed in rich blues and dark blacks beaming against it. When we finished the first season, we’d pull out the stack of DVDs that Dad had burned the rest of the seasons on.
Marisah and I would scramble for the remote whenever our favorite scenes or lines played out. We would rewind the disc over and over as we both acted it out, screamed it, and felt every word in our chests. The last season was either skipped over entirely or we’d watch everything up until the last three episodes. We were unwilling to accept the ending as canon, instead spending time thinking of better ones.
Eventually every summer became every break, trying to squeeze seven seasons in seven days.
When I came home from college it was one of the only shows we could agree on. The differences being that: instead of the couch that had been thrown out years previous, we now occupied our parents queen size bed - the bottom bunk of our bed being easier for our dad to get in and out of with his cane; the cloud of smoke and stench of weed that clung to our clothes, despite the window being open; and the constant presence of our dad, who seemed to think now was the time to try his hand at parenting.
American Idol
There were two days that were guaranteed to find all four of us in front of the TV.
If I remember correctly American Idol used to come on for two hours on Tuesday and one on Wednesdays. It was one of the few times we changed over to FOX - channel 13.
Dad and I were always trying to guess who would have a sob story, making fun of the willingness to faee public humiliation.
Marisah loved Randy Jackson. She’d start giving out critiques halfway through the audition saying, “It’s a no for me, Dawg.” We’d all laugh when minutes later Randy would echo her.
Mom always agreed with Paula. She thought everyone deserved some kind of encouragement, even when they clearly sucked. If Paula happened to give a no, Mom knew that they had to be incredibly terrible.
Dad and I were Simon fans. We loved the brutal honesty, sometimes wishing that he’d be even more brutal. We lapped up the tears that were shed by contestants that didn’t make it through, or thought that Simon was cruel. Mom would give us a shake of her head and the look, which meant we were in for a scolding about our ‘heartlessness.’
As soon as the episode was over we would scatter; Dad to his room, Mom to the kitchen. Marisah and I would either both go to our bunks or I would head to the dining room, laying underneath the table to do homework, while secretly texting my friends.
Hallmark Movies
Originally, Christmas movies only played from the beginning of November until the end of January. Dad put a hard stop to year round jolly. Marisah, Mom, and I would all spread out in the living room surrounding the TV. My favorite spot was on the beige carpet, occasionally with a blanket or pillow in tow. We each took turns picking, although if I’m being honest, Mom and I were the only ones who really chose anything. Marisah was forced to stay by guilt, until that no longer worked.
I loved rewatching my favorites every year, while Mom loved watching new ones. I could guess the whole movie from the first five minutes, but I sat through the whole thing wanting to see the Christmas magical romance. I think part of it was watching people who looked nothing like me, live out a fantasy, and find happiness with the most obvious choices.
Mom is the only one who watches Hallmark year round, a fact that surprises no one. Sometimes it’ll just play as background noise while she cooks or cleans. She gets excited to watch new ones, their release a scarcity in warmer months. Occasionally, if I’m home, I’ll sit on the ground and watch one with her as the AC blasts around us.
Kiah Conway is a writer who lives in Brooklyn, NY, and received an MFA in Creative Writing at St. Joseph's University, New York, and a BA in Journalism and Creative Writing at Seton Hall University. Kiah’s work has previously been published in Jelly Squid Magazine, and has upcoming fiction in The Blunt Space Inc.