That’s right. Single-handedly, I tried to save America. All by myself.
Some people try by running for office — and sometimes America is saved because they lose. Some go into law enforcement, all Miami Vice and hero music, only to end up gaining fifty pounds eating donuts. Either way, America usually wakes up looking about the same the next morning.
We all see ourselves playing some important role. Flag wavers. Protesters. Patriots. Rebels. Whether we realize it or not, we all play a part in the national circus.
But this story is about me… and how I almost saved America by simply not turning on the daytime television.
My mother was a working woman — which wasn’t exactly common in the 1950s and early ’60s. She ran her own business for over twenty years and kept working well into the late 1980s. Before work, she’d do her morning exercises with Jack LaLanne on TV, jumping jacks and all. Then she’d get ready for work while I was supposed to be getting ready for school.
One morning, I stayed home. Probably some weak excuse involving too much candy the night before.
So there I am, flipping channels, when I stumble onto a parade in Texas.
Figure it out yet?
November 22, 1963.
I’m seventeen years old — and sitting there live as John F. Kennedy is assassinated.
And where am I? Sitting in front of the television instead of being in school.
So, being the responsible young man that I clearly was, I called the school, confessed I was skipping, and informed them the president had just been shot.
Probably part of why I enlisted a few days later.
Back in the ’60s, we didn’t leave the TV on all day. We had lives. We did things. Probably not homework, but things.
Still, I got bored one afternoon and turned the television back on.
And there it was again — live television history.
I watched Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald on live TV.
Or silence him forever, if you prefer the conspiracy version.
A few years pass.
At that point I didn’t care much about politics. But once again, I was bored. And once again, I turned on the television.
June 5, 1968.
Enter Sirhan Sirhan.
I end up watching coverage surrounding the assassination of Senator Robert F. Kennedy.
The Middle East was already tearing itself apart back then. Different decade, same human species.
Maybe somebody should’ve paid more attention in history class.
Unfortunately, apparently that somebody wasn’t me either.
A couple more decades roll by.
I’m self-employed now, working from an upstairs loft office, with one hard rule: no television during the day.
I go downstairs for caffeine, think, “Ah, what the heck,” and flip on the TV.
There’s the Space Shuttle Challenger launching.
And then there’s the Challenger exploding seventy-three seconds later.
January 28, 1986.
At this point I’m beginning to suspect I may be the problem.
Then comes September 11, 2001.
Same house. Same office. Same caffeine run. Same television.
I turn it on just in time to see smoke pouring from one tower.
I remember thinking, “Why is that plane flying so close to those buildings?”
I had no idea what was unfolding.
Then I watched the second plane hit live.
And just like that, the Twin Towers became rubble, nearly 3,000 people were dead, and America changed forever.
That was the moment I finally recognized the pattern.
The television was clearly too dangerous for me to operate during daylight hours.
So I made a sacrifice for my country.
No more daytime TV.
America needed me vigilant. Disciplined. Focused.
If avoiding daytime television could prevent national catastrophe, then by God, I was willing to do my part.
And honestly, I’d like to think my sacrifice saved millions.
But despite my efforts, COVID still showed up. Wars kept happening. Inflation kept climbing. Gas prices rose. Eggs became luxury items.
And somehow, against all odds, Donald Trump still became president… twice.
So after all my sacrifice… after all my patriotism… after all my heroic refusal to watch daytime television…
