The Channel Changer - A Short Remembrance
When I was a child, the channel changer loomed large in our household. It was a treasured family tool that was valued above all others. Lose the channel changer and you may as well crawl in a hole with the rest of the dreaded vermin.
“Son, could you flick the channel to 7?” Dad would say. “The Lawrence Welk show is on in a few minutes.”
When the pliers that sat atop the television set went missing it caused nothing but chaos and possible flesh wounds.
“What do you mean the pliers are missing! How the hell am I going to watch Lawrence Welk if I can’t changed the damn channel! Goddamn you kids!”
With eleven kids in an apartment, the television dial never had a chance to nurture and grow. Its life had come to an end within a week of the television’s arrival. Had we not killed it, it would no doubt have taken its own life.
After the quick demise of the television dial, out came the pliers from the junk drawer. All the other junk drawer denizens must have been green with TV envy. The pliers had made its way out of the wretched bowels of junk drawer hell and found its way to the almighty altar that was television. I miss those times. Though not enough to wish I had them back.
Do I get a little misty when I hold a pair of pliers? Certainly. But I’ll deny it if pressured. I don’t need that sort of legacy.