Creative Word :: Freelance Writing Services of Cynthia Edwards | ||
 By Cynthia Edwards - October 26, 1998
But I have a confession so weird; you may titter, your jaw may drop; but however you react, please don’t judge me until you’ve heard me out. I am a middle-aged woman and I love the Teletubbies. There, I said it.
I bought a video of the Teletubbies yesterday, so I could watch them in the privacy of my own home, behind shuttered windows. In the store, I slipped the video nonchalantly under my arm while I shopped, obscuring the label from prying eyes, prepared if need be to provide a smooth cover story about buying it for some tiny nieces and nephews in Wisconsin somewhere. But when I got home I tore off the shrink-wrap and cued up "Here Come the Teletubbies!" on my own VCR. Then I settled back to watch the baby sun god rise over Teletubby land, and utter simplicity break loose — kindly, gently — on the screen. Why do I love the Teletubbies so much? I don’t have a small child, and I don’t go in for fads generally. I don’t collect Beanie Babies or stop to buy Tickle-Me-Elmos being hawked on street corners. I flatter myself that I am reasonably sophisticated, intellectual, and gracefully aging. Yet those chubby little Teletubbies and the peaceful land they inhabit (complete with real bunny rabbits) have the power to capture my attention and draw out the complexities of my fast-paced, stressful daily life, the way plain old baking soda draws out the hurt from a bee sting.
Maybe I just feel comfortable in the presence of little creatures with whom I share certain anatomical traits. What I consider my worst feature, over-padded hips and thighs, is just what makes the Teletubbies adorable. There’s solace in that! Maybe it’s the charm of their underground home, a blend of modern airport architecture and early Wurlitzer jukebox. Maybe it’s their sweet names — Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa Laa, and Po. Or the simplicity of the communications network that joins Teletubbies with real kids — a magic pinwheel that spins against the sky, shooting off sparks while it chooses an excited Teletubby to receive today’s video message on its tummy.
Or maybe it’s just the stress-busting Zen of it all. The sheer pleasure of slowing down long enough to contemplate scenes of raindrops falling. The simple fun of deciding whether or not to jump in a puddle. The joy of watching the Teletubbies take turns with a modest prop like a ballet tutu, which inspires each one to improvise a dance in its own unique style. I guess we can all do with more self-expression, more appreciation of the simple things, more silliness and a slower pace at which to enjoy life. I have discovered that I love getting in touch with my inner Teletubby. Give yourself permission to ignore what the neighbors might say, and let the cooing baby sun god and the bunny rabbits and the magic whirligig into your heart, too. And the Teletubbies, of course. Bi-i-ig hug!!!
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here is not much left that shocks us. Stories of obsession are so commonplace, most of us don’t bother to raise an eyebrow anymore.
