Rewind that Rerun

Tonight I saw the light.  It was on That 70’s Show and it was probably a rerun. 

 

Undoubtedly, Eli’s very most, all-time favorite show is That 70’s Show.  There were 200 episodes produced between 1998 and 2006, and I swear I know every single one by heart.  

EVERY day Eli sets the DVR to record EVERY episode on EVERY channel.  We have DISH TV and since I’m way too lazy to go see how many different channels and time slots that might be, let’s just say it works out to about a bajillion.  

Because I’ve had to listen to it virtually non-stop any time I pass through the living room, I HATE THIS SHOW.  (Well, to be fair, I hate just about all TV.)

Every night I clear out the DVR memory, and every day he records them all again.  I have had long heartfelt discussions with him, asking him to please stop recording them, explaining that setting that many timers causes everyone else’s shows to be bumped, which causes those bulgy veins to throb menacingly in people’s temples.   He says, “My bad” and promises not to do it anymore.  Twenty minutes later, his busy fingers are scrolling through the guide channel, setting recordings willy-nilly.

After I put Eli to bed tonight, I went back in his room for the umpty-eleventh time because he needed his glasses cleaned (Reason # 17 in a looonng list).  Making conversation, I asked him what he was watching on TV.  He told me about a movie that was ending, and then said, “You know what I’m going to watch next?  That 70’s Show."

I said, “That’s your favorite show, isn’t it, kiddo?  Don’t you ever get tired of watching it over and over?”

Somewhat surprised, he said, “Nooo…, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one that was a rerun.”  

Astounded, I said, “Honey!  You’ve seen them all a million times.” 

And then he said, “Oh, well I guess don’t know it because my brain is messed up.”

I pretty much end every day with my head in my hands, ashamed at once again losing my patience with him.  Night after night, after I put him to bed, my phone begins to ring.  Sometimes it starts ringing before I have even shut his bedroom door and made it back to my office.  If I don’t answer my cell phone right away, he starts calling the house phone.  The other kids get frustrated and say “take his phone away,” but I worry he won’t have it the one time he needs it, like the time his legs fell out of bed and pulled him halfway to the floor.  I worry he’ll lose his blankets and lay shivering all night, or that he’ll get an excruciating itch he can’t reach.  

Those things rarely happen; he mostly calls over and over for me to get him some Coke or clean his glasses.  I plead and beg and cajole and threaten and sometimes scream and yell for him to please not call me for the same thing again, because I have papers to write, and laundry to do, and sanity to preserve.

It never occurred to me that he doesn’t know he’s doing it, that he doesn’t know it’s a rerun.

I guess “my brain is messed up” too.