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'The most important thing we've learned, So far as children are concerned, Is never, NEVER, NEVER let Them near your television set — Or better still, just don't install The idiotic thing at all. In almost every house we've been, We've watched them gaping at the screen. They loll and slop and lounge about, And stare until their eyes pop out. (Last week in someone's place we saw A dozen eyeballs on the floor.) They sit and stare and stare and sit Until they're hypnotized by it, Until they're absolutely drunk With all that shocking ghastly junk. Oh yes, we know it keeps them still, They don't climb out the window sill, They never fight or kick or punch, They leave you free to cook the lunch And wash the dishes in the sink — But did you ever stop to think, To wonder just exactly what This does to your beloved tot? IT ROTS THE SENSES IN THE HEAD! IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD! IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND! IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND! HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE! HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE! HE CANNOT THINK — HE ONLY SEES! "All right!" you'll cry. "All right!" you'll say, "But if we take the set away, What shall we do to entertain Our darling children! Please explain!" We'll answer this by asking you, "What used the darling ones to do? How used they keep themselves contented Before this monster was invented?" Have you forgotten? Don't you know? We'll say it very loud and slow: THEY . . . USED TO . . . READ! They'd READ and READ, AND READ and READ, and then proceed TO READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks! One half their lives was reading books! The nursery shelves held books galore! Books cluttered up the nursery floor! And in the bedroom, by the bed, More books were waiting to be read! Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales And treasure isles, and distant shores Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars, And pirates wearing purple pants, And sailing ships and elephants, And cannibals crouching round the pot, Stirring away at something hot. (It smells so good, what can it be? Good gracious, it's Penelope.) The younger ones had Beatrix Potter With Mr Tod, the dirty rotter, And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland, And Mrs Tiggy-Winkle and — Just How The Camel Got His Hump, And How The Monkey Lost His Rump, And Mr Toad, and bless my soul, There's Mr Rat and Mr Mole — Oh, books, what books they used to know, Those children living long ago! So please, oh please, we beg, we pray, Go throw your TV set away, And in its place you can install A lovely bookshelf on the wall. Then fill the shelves with lots of books, Ignoring all the dirty looks, The screams and yells, the bites and kicks, And children hitting you with sticks — Fear not, because we promise you That, in about a week or two Of having nothing else to do, They'll now begin to feel the need Of having something good to read. And once they start — oh boy, oh boy! You watch the slowly growing joy That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen They'll wonder what they'd ever seen In that ridiculous machine, That nauseating, foul, unclean. Repulsive television screen! And later, each and every kid Will love you more for what you did. P.S. Regarding Mike Teavee, We very much regret that we Shall simply have to wait and see If we can get him back his height. But if we can't — it serves him right.'
