Tis the Season

Christmas is quickly approaching, and when kids are involved it almost inevitably means a tsunami of toys. My kids are still very young, but my two-year-old is starting to catch on quickly to the consumerism that bombards her daily. And as retailers and marketers ratchet things up for the Christmas season, the allure of toys becomes almost overwhelming.

I try hard to protect my children from the incessant advertising of kids' products. One way is to extremely limit the amount and type of television they watch. My toddler has one favourite show—Barney—and it's pretty much the only one she watches. The show itself is an ad for Barney products, of course, but otherwise there are no commercials and little other than good manners and fun songs are pitched her way.

But still, my daughter knows much more beyond the world of Barney, somehow picking up bits and pieces here and there, in ways that sometimes baffle me and my wife.

At Christmastime though, the marketing mania becomes particularly bothersome to me as a parent. Most of us already wander through the "holiday season" with little regard for its true meaning or origin. Instead our credit cards help us charge through the darkening days of winter as we blanket ourselves and our loved ones in the warm embrace of stuff.

Don't get me wrong: I completely sympathize with the desire to shower loved ones with some external representation of our feelings. And for kids an obvious way to do this is with toys.

But it can so easily get out of control, and, ultimately, I think it sends a bad message to our kids. Something good and thoughtful, like giving a gift, becomes perverted into some sort of arms race, where the ridiculous bumper sticker "He who dies with the most toys wins" takes on a frighteningly real meaning.

So at this time of year in particular, I try my best to hold back the tide, and wherever I can, calm the waters. My kids are still mostly oblivious to what goes on around them, so it's easier. I can't help but think of this time as a chance to put on the parental training wheels, to skin my knees a bit and take a few falls without having too many long-term consequences. But in short order I know the training wheels will be off and I'll be left teetering at the edge—holding the handle bars, feet straining for the pedals—hoping that all my practice, all my false starts, will finally come together and make the ride just a little bit smoother.

Find out why Father Knows Best in Paul's previous articles: