4 - Wednesday, September 7, 1988 - North Shore News wes) HUNTER © strictly personal @ Ran Uy 1AM the father of four children. At least two and possibly three of them are no longer children. I say ‘‘possibly three’’ because my nine-year-old son, Willie, is transmutating before my very eyes. [ think, actually, at nine, in the modern world, with probably 10,000 hours of television and video behind him, a kid isn’t a kid any more. With that degrce of videoiza- tion, a kid has pretty much travel- led the galaxy of humanity’s col- lective imagination. The two older ones went through their pre-teens in the six- ties. Their mother, who was from Britain, had a paranoid thing about television, so there wasn't a set around the house until they were almost out of childhood. Their formative years were like mine, in other wards. Pre-televoid, to coin a phrase. My second set of kids was weaned from Mom's breast straight on to a small color TV. In fact, if it weren’t for television, I don’t know whether we’d have found time to manufacture the se- cond one. I haven't read any of the latest media theories. Maybe there’s a blockbuster new concept coming off the presses even as I write, but as far as I know, Marshall McLuhan is still the reigning deacon on what’s happening to the mass mind in the age of television. First and foremost in McLuhan’s intellectua] musings was the notion that little minds raised next to a cathode tube are little minds that will never be the same. Their reticular systems would tend to become more porous than their ancestors’, including old Dad’s. That is, they wouldn’t be screening out so much infornia- tion. They would have wider perceptual horizons. Their minds would be more open! The perils are obvious. Yet the promise of a deeper-seeing generation coming along has always seemed to me to outweigh the risks by far. Willie had a dream the other night, and with his permission I'll exerpt the final passage from the report he wrote about it, titled William Frederick Lorne Hunter’s Greatest Dream: In his dream, Willie stepped off the sidewalk near school and was transported into a desert, which became some place in Africa, which became a carnival in Ger- many. He was an undercover agent. He met a beautiful girl wad fell in love with her. At the carnival, Willie's girlfriend asked him to win a teddy bear for her by throwing a ball. “But Pim too tired.” Tsay. So she deliberately cuts her arm and says, (My arm isn't in good candi- tion to throw anything.’ “And so ] win her a bunny, and she changes herself into one and so I win her back, but then the Deception (an evil robot) captured her, so me and Powermaster Op- timus Prime (the ultimate good robot) recaptured her. “And as us, Prime, The Peacebird and a Blue Jay looked into the distance, everyone of hu- manity turned into a giant golden Eagle as if they had looked up for centuries in a universal dungeon and now have been set free. And all of a sudden the universes and everything in them headed toward the sun and before | could think another thought ...we ...were ...God!”” Hf there had been any residual fear that television might have dulled the poor kid’s imagination, it is wiped away. It’s fascinating, now that he’s watching the news for a few minutes here and there, to see Willie trying to piece together a picture of the real] world. For him, it must be like landing on a Strange planet. So far, he has spent most of his 10,000 hours of viewing time...elsewhere. Somewhere out- side of time and space, in a trance state, experiencing a mental and emotional massage. None of the shows he watches has anything to do with the realities of life on this beseiged, probably irreparably damaged world, as far as I can see. It is post-Space Age stuff. Willie knows that men landed on the moon, oh hum, a Iong, Jong time ago. Like, before he was born. Uf [try to talk to him about it, he says: ‘‘Tell me about the pyramids, Dad!’’ For him, the future has been the last nine years, watching every science-fiction and fantasy show and movie produced, except for the horror genre, tcan almost see this video haze shimmering around him, like a nimbus uround a mutant. One always likes to think Chat one's kids are, after all, evolving some- where, rather than just being a re- tun of our favorite old evolu- tionary dramas. (“See Man triumph over Nature!’’) Dream on, son! ® WOOLCO CORRECTION NOTICE Re: Woolco Days Flyer that appeared Sept. 7, 1988 Back Page: Merchandise Leyed wrong. Item AandB 13 2297 C. and D are 26 97 Woolco sincerely regrets any inconvenence that this may have caused its customers WEST VAN OTTERS SWIM CLUB The West Vancouver Otters Swim Club is a com- petitive swim club offering instruction and train- ing for novice to national level swimmers (ages7-25). In a club atmosphere of camaraderie and fun the program provides the opportunity for each swimmer to develop to his potential. This fall again promises to be an exciting time under the leadership of our Head Coach, Richard Gate, who has previously worked with Canada’s top ranked national coaches and clubs, Club registration will be on Thurs. Sept. 8, 6-8 p.m. at the Wan. Rec Centre. The Otters offer the first two weeks Free for new swimmers to “tryout” our program. 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