The inevitable has happened, and sooner than I expected. My daughter is not even 2 years old, but already she has fallen under the spell of the South or maybe Central American sorceress known as “Dora.” Yes, THAT Dora — Dora the Explorer.
Despite the odds, you believe that you can avoid it. You envision yourself raising your child on a wholesome diet of old fairy tales and Woody Guthrie songs — but instead, THIS is what you get: a 22-month-old girl looking at you while pointing at the darkened TV, yelling “Doh-ahhh! DOH-AHHHH!!”
My little Hazel has Dora pajamas, Dora coloring books — let’s just say Dora everything. She gets upset if you try to make her brush her teeth, but if you really want to hear her scream, well, try taking away her Dora toothbrush. She’s hooked. I figured it’s something she’ll grow out of in a year, but we may not be so lucky. My wife teaches first grade at a public school in Brooklyn, where one of her students recently told her, “My friend in second grade sings the Dora theme song all the time!”
“Second grade?” my wife said to me when she got home. “When does it stop?”
The first year of parenting was hard because of the constant sleep deprivation, but this is a new phase — one in which your remaining sanity is ground down to nothing by the incessant droning of a little girl on the television. It’s like some kind of torture devised by the CIA.
I know, it’s just a silly kids’ show — so why is it so maddening? For one thing, Dora is an assault on the intellect. I don’t have a problem with all shows targeted at little kids. Mr. Rogers was benevolent and comforting. “Yo Gabba Gabba” is visceral and fun, even when introducing basic concepts of fairness. Dora, though, while teaching rudimentary math and decision-making skills, makes me want to rip my scalp off and pummel my own brain until I can no longer see or hear.
Every useful lesson that Dora teaches somehow comes at the expense of logic and common sense. In one episode, Dora and her pal Boots The Monkey catch a ride with their friend Tico The Squirrel. But OH NO! There are giant pot-holes in the road, and YOU have to tell Tico every time he’s about to hit one so he can steer around it. So what happens? Dora, Boots, and even Tico turn to look backwards over their shoulders at you, waiting for your instructions, while the car is hurtling down the road. Say, if you want to avoid the potholes, maybe you should start by WATCHING THE ROAD. How did this idiot squirrel even get a driver’s license?
Dora gives all kinds of mixed messages. It’s great that she always wears her seat belt, but shouldn’t she also check with her parents before getting into somebody else’s car? Especially if it’s a car being driven by, say, an IDIOT SQUIRREL? Stuff like that happens every three minutes with this infuriating kid. Dora teaches you to make basic choices while also being an ignorant moron. For instance, that sneaky fox Swiper is always trying to steal their stuff. Dora and her friends, including Benny the Bull, stand there looking scared while they implore Swiper not to do what he does. That’s when I start yelling at the TV.
“Swiper is a fox. YOU HAVE A BULL! You’re so good at counting, Dora, DO THE MATH. CRUSH HIM!”
Cartoons aren’t realistic, I know, but this show is a constant stream of misinformation. Take Dora’s sloppy environmentalism. Dora and Boots are at the beach, where she tells viewers, “We have to clean up the beach. I need YOUR HELP!” Then she picks up some food wrappers and soda cans and carelessly drops all of it into a bin marked with the universal Recycling logo. Yes, Dora, you do need my help, because YOU ARE THE WORST. Look, I’m learning to make peace with the fact that a lot of adults grew up in the days before recycling and can’t be bothered to separate Dr. Pepper cans from the rest of their garbage, but only because I have faith that for kids growing up now, recycling is as second-nature as say, swiping a touch-screen or hacking the parental controls on the cable box. Dora, you do realize that you are a role model to millions of children, right?
What bugs me the most is that Dora succeeds at everything she does. Every contest or race that she’s in, she wins. I’m all for encouraging a positive outlook, but aren’t we past this business of raising spoiled kids who think they are more special than all the other kids, and who believe that they deserve to win at everything? Aren’t the ’80s over?
I suspect that Dora’s particular brand of “dumbing down” isn’t just for kids — it’s targeting adults who have been convinced that we need resources tailored to every micro-stage of our children’s development. Episodes of Dora start with a brief intro touting the show’s educational value: Kids learn early math and problem-solving skills. But you know what else teaches those things? Living, that’s what. Figuring out how to open a box of cereal. Playing with other kids. Counting crayons. If you think your toddler is getting some great developmental boost because a cartoon is asking her whether Tico the Idiot Squirrel should take the unobstructed left path, or the polar bear-infested right path, then you may need to spend more time with your kid.
I’m going to stop complaining now. For one thing, my daughter is never going to take the show half as seriously as I do. Plus, I’m realizing that the sorceress has cast her spell on me, too — these days I only find myself yelling at the TV when something’s different.
“Why is Dora’s voice so nasally in this episode? They’re ruining the show!”
Somewhere along the way I went from being a critic to a connoisseur. Maybe I should turn off the TV and spend more time with my kid.
Tim Perrins is a part-time stay-at-home dad who lives with his wife, their toddler, and at least two Dora dolls in Park Slope, Brooklyn. More of his thoughts about babies and other things that confuse him can be found at www.RevoltOfTheImbeciles.blogspot.com.
