I have for some time had a love/hate relationship with the television. Growing up, it was a welcomed friend, delivering the warm and fuzzy classics such as "The Cosby Show," "Family Ties," and the great "ode" to early American values known as "All in the Family." I was probably the only three-year-old who actually regularly tuned in to Archie Bunker's tirades with great anticipation and interest. Growing up, I don't remember being babysat by the television. I don't remember television being a central focus of my life. My parents were fairly strict about the television being off on school nights or until homework was finished. If I rushed through my times tables I likely would be granted permission to catch an hour or so of prime time sitcom television and that was that.

When I was a child, cable television didn't bleep out swear words because they weren't even allowed on the air. Most networks didn't even air shows with four letter words so no bleeping was necessary (save maybe Jerry Springer, which actually used to be a legitimate talk show believe it or not). Back then, even tertiary swear words--the stuff we hear today in most rated-PG movies--were bleeped out. I never, not for one second thought of television as an enemy. Television was the bearer of all things good--a friend in our home, bringing delightful goodness, humor, education, and even a bit of insight here and there. Perfect it was not, but I was none the wiser. As long as the television brought me closer to Bill Cosby, it was the best thing since sliced bread.

Summers were an entirely different story. During the summers of my childhood I could take in as much television as I wanted and it was a glorious season to behold. Daytime television was like a treasure trove of new shows I'd never seen before. I remember the summer I was first introduced to soap operas. I was eleven-years-old and spent that particular summer in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania with my grandparents. When it came to television there are three shows that my grandfather never missed: The Mormon Tabernacle Choir (airing on Christmas Eve only), any football games involving the Pittsburgh Steelers, and of course, Days of Our Lives. Never has a show had a more fitting title because indeed that is what you give when you indulge yourself in soap operas - DAYS of your life. I tuned in avidly every day, hoping to find some sort of redemption in the storyline. The writers had me on the edge of my seat for each and every show...waiting intently on a resolution that would never come. I quickly observed that any inconsistencies in the plot or sense of reality could all be covered up by one of the characters having amnesia--lots and lots of amnesia. Soap operas are insufferable.

It took me an entire summer to come to the revelation that the chief end of daytime television (soap operas in particular) is to ensure that you the viewer will tune in again tomorrow. Beyond that, there is no other goal. I wanted my money back. "Days of Our Lives" had ripped off my entire summer and I felt utterly betrayed. Three months' worth of watching still left me with the same questions I had on day one of my soap opera experience. There is a lesson there I wish I'd realized much sooner in life.

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The question of where the media is headed has always been weighty. When looking towards the future, for me it comes down to one question: how will truth be disseminated? That pretty much encompases everything--truth in reporting, truth in the images presented, truth about the reality of what this world truly needs.

Yesterday, John Johnson, a giant in the black media world passed away at the age of 87. So again the reality of time marches on. The people that once were pillars are no more and we are forced to deal with fact that someone must become responsible for moving us from where we are to where we need to be. Where "we" need to be seems to be up for debate right now, but more on that later.

If you don't know who John Johnson is, let me school you because in the aftershocks of Peter Jennings' passing, I am certain Johnson's legacy will be buried on the news desks. The Johnson Publishing empire is mighty. In 1942, Johnson began Ebony Magazine as his take on the traditional "Life Magazine" with the goal of focusing on black society. The goal of the magazine bounced around from reporting the bad to celebrating the good. In a time when blacks were nearly nonexistent in printed media, Johnson filled a void. Even to this day, you'd be hard-pressed to find a black American household that doesn't have Ebony or Jet Magazine on the coffee table. For most black families, Ebony magazine has become a household staple. Johnson later followed up by launching the smaller Jet magazine as well as the Fashion Fair make-up empire, book-publishing, television production, and more.

As a multimillionaire, in 1982 Johnson was the first black American ever to make the Forbes' list of richest Americans. That's right, even before Oprah. Let us all stop and clap for that please. My thoughts on the current state of Ebony Magazine aside, what I can most respect most about John Johnson was that he ran a family business, and unlike another famous "Johnson," he never sold out (financially, that is). Even today, the company is headed by members of the Johnson family. For his legacy and his contribution to the black community, Johnson should be honored and respected.

Over the last couple of years, however, I've had a difficult time figuring out just what type of message Ebony Magazine has been trying to convey. From cover stories on the "Down Low Culture," and Louis Farrakhan to top bachelor and bachelorette listings, I can't help but be unsatisfied by mediums that mostly seem to do more to entertain, comfort and pseudo-educate than they do to provoke and change. While this isn't necessarily a problem specific to race (I could list off perpetrators of all colors), I do find this reality at work among the few predominately black media institutions presently in operation.

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While I'm not fond of essays that derive their theses from television shows, humor me for a moment. In spite of Bill Cosby's inability to disconnect his name from scandal and adultery, I will forever extol the virtues of one of the greatest television shows ever created.

Straight from the "Somebody's about to make a whole lot of money" department, I am joyful to announce that the first season of "The Cosby Show" is now available on DVD. Apparently, Cosby himself will have to purchase a DVD player to verify that it's true.

To be honest, I never thought I'd see the day what with the show still in heavy syndication. As a child of the Reagan era, I am probably the biggest "Cosby Show" fan you will ever meet. I have every episode memorized and were there a "Cosby Show" version of Jeopardy, I would be the Ken Jennings of Huxtable family trivia--except I wouldn't be Mormon (or white, or named Ken). Which leads me to a minor caveat:

Beyond pure entertainment (the Gordon Gartrelle shirt episode cracks me up every single time), the enduring nature of "The Cosby Show" can be attributed to a plotline that deals with real-life scenarios and principles common to every family. Minus the real-time references to one-hit-wonder celebrities and philosophical trends of the age, the show has remained timeless. That is, not counting the insane number of times the pubescent Malcolm Jamal Warner wore incredibly tight sweatpants. The eighties need to be burned for that.

Moreover, "The Cosby Show's" ultimate success was its hard-line presentation of traditional family values--the same values that current American television couldn't touch with a 10-foot-magnetized pole. Although many would disagree, I might also add that Cosby's vision for the show managed to do more for black American television representation in 30-minute increments, than D.L. Hughley, Cedric the Entertainer, Bernie Mac, or Damon Wayans have been able to do in their combined lifetimes. In all the fabulosity of the members of the Huxtable family, the fact still stands that we are all the product of extreme dysfunction. Nevertheless, in their own dysfunctional way, the Huxtables presented an attainable standard which every family could emulate.

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For whatever sick and twisted reason, I continue to be a semi-regular watcher of the Today Show. Maybe I just tune in to see Matt Lauer's buzz cut, or Ann whatever her name is (think spicy Indian sauce) fumble her words, or to see Al Roker get paid to do absolutely nothing, or to watch Katie act like an idiot. Whatever the reason, I am regularly insensed (and entertained) by the mostly liberal slant they take on just about everything. Today Today was not entertaining. Today, one of the topics was abortion.

In a piece titled "Termination for Love", correspondents discussed the option many expectant mothers have taken to terminate their pregnancies when they find that their child may have birth defects. Spina bifida and Cerebral Palsy of course, being a few of the more major diseases commonly diagnosed, the story also included many instances of women choosing to terminate their pregnancy kill their baby because of minor things such as a cleft palette, a missing finger, a club foot, and even the wrong sex. Abortion Murder a child because he's the wrong sex? This is not China, this is America. And even in China, sex-driven genocide was completely unacceptable.

The lovely song of many women who have terminated their pregnancies for defectal reasons is of course, "I did it for love". This type of "love" believes that certain types of children will be better off dead in the womb than suffer in life. I suppose I can understand the logic. When the doctors are telling you that a child may not live beyond three months when born, why not end a life now to avoid more pain and suffering than necessary in the future. Why not? Because we are not God and we don't get the luxury of making such decisions. I realize this defies human logic, but that is the essence of faith.

One interviewee in particular, when faced with the news of her baby's short life expectancy, decided along with her husband, that she would rather not be forced to eventually look at a baby's casket. I am just going to say it: I think that logic is incredibly selfish. For the sake of foregoing your own pain, you choose to end a life which has been predicted by fallible (although knowledgeable) doctors to be short. When bringing a life into this world, it isn't about "us". Of course, many minds would reason that sparing a baby's life from potential pain is incredibly selfless because we have a mis-conception of what selfishness truly is. Selfishness takes place when we think that we always have the ability to control every situation. We are living in the era of the idolization of self. Man has now become his own god.

I have tried very hard to wrap my own theory and human rationale around a situation I know nothing about. I have never been pregnant. If I were, that would indeed be an immaculate conception. It is very easy for someone like me to sit up in the luxury skybox of inexperience and tell other people what decisions they should and should not be making. If forced to make the same decision, I do not doubt I may struggle. However, principle is principle and you don't have to go down every road to determine its destination as wrong.

The womb is one of the most pure and sacred places we have left on the Earth. My most firm conviction will forever be that the womb should not be touched. Human beings are not the true givers life and we are not authorized to take it away. I realize this leaves a lot of room for "what-ifs". The situation of deformity is one of them. However, I believe these "what-ifs" have caused a distraction from the key issue at hand. I am not willing to entertain those "what-ifs" because they are the very "conditionals" that would push legislation that continues to allow (and sometimes encourage) this modern-day holocaust. What-if's will come, but my worldview overrides the "conditionals".

My brother Aaron died of SIDS "Sudden Infant Death Syndrome" at the tender age of 6-months-old. To this day, I cannot comprehend how my parents made it through that situation. If given the chance to go back in time, knowing in advance that they'd lose their son, they would have surely gone through with the pregnancy because the plan was not theirs to determine.

I question this notion of "love". I understand it, but I do not agree with it.

Update: When searching for a fetus photo, I made the grave mistake of typing in "abortion" on google image search. This is what I got. Click at your own risk. Absolutely horrific.

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