When I got back from college for the holidays, it was on.
It was the night my dad quit his job and my mum cried in the kitchen because the house was too quiet.
The blue light from the screen in our living room was like family wallpaper.
Every night for forty years, the same two silhouettes sat next to each other on the same sagging sofa with the same remote with tape on the back.
They never said anything about it.
They all sat down, sighed at the same time, and gave in to the noise.
At some point, I realised that I had grown up watching them watch TV.
The calm routine that filled our family nights
You would have seen the same thing if you had walked by our window at 8:30 p.m. any year from 1985 to 2026.
My parents were sitting next to each other, staring straight ahead, their faces lit by that cold, steady light.
Over the years, there have been different types of TVs, like the big box, the silver flat screen, and the black smart TV.
Their hair turned grey, the wallpaper and the sofas changed.
The position stayed the same: shoulders slightly hunched, hands folded, and bodies leaning a little toward the light.
We ate early, washed the dishes, and without anyone saying a word, they moved to their places.
It was like the night didn’t really start until the TV said something.
I only remember some nights because of what was on.
The Berlin Wall fell on a fuzzy screen while my dad stood up and woke up.
On 9/11, my mom had her hand over her mouth and was whispering “My God” to the beat of the anchors.
Family dramas were planned to fit in with the shows
When my sister told my father she was getting a divorce, he turned down the volume, not off.
When I brought home my first serious boyfriend, we met during the commercial break.
More than three hours of TV a day is what the average adult watches.
That sounds low in our house.
Our clock didn’t work on hours; it worked on prime time and late-night reruns.
When I think about it now, I see the TV less as a source of entertainment and more as a way to protect my feelings.
Life could be hard, money could be tight, and conversations could be awkward, but the TV never asked for anything back.
It helped me get through long days, especially when work was boring and I didn’t know what was going to happen next.
It filled in the gaps that could have led to painful truths
Even on nights when they fought all day, it kept my parents sitting next to each other.
The screen didn’t just steal time; it also kept the peace without anyone knowing.
*You don’t stay loyal to something for forty years unless it means something to your heart, not just your eyes.*
I only realised how deep this habit went when I got my first flat. It changed the way I love, talk, and sleep.
I plugged in a small TV I didn’t even like and left it on for the background noise on my second night alone.
It felt like the silence was too big and too bare.
I copied the dance moves I had seen my whole life: plate on my lap, legs outstretched, and remote in reach.
For a short time, I felt strangely safe, as if I had brought my parents’ living room into my small rented space.
That’s when I realised I hadn’t just watched TV with them.
I had learned a certain way to spend my evenings, almost like a family religion.
This pattern quietly crept into my relationships
I went out with someone who loved books and long walks at night. After 9 p.m., I was twitchy and wanted “just one episode” of something.
Cosy nights turned into long streams of films instead of talking.
One partner gently pointed out that I would automatically reach for the remote whenever a topic got too emotional.
They asked, “Do you know you always do that?”
I didn’t. I really thought I was “just turning something on in the background.”
To be honest, no one really does this every day unless it’s a habit that has something to do with something else.
Comfort. Avoidance. A way to feel close without saying anything that could get you in trouble.
The more I thought about those forty years of my parents’ evenings, the more I saw the unspoken deal that was going on.
TV was their way to relax every day
They gave it time and attention, and it gave them a routine and a sense of being together.
But it also taught us all to put the screen in the middle of the room, both physically and emotionally.
People stopped arguing to watch TV.
“As long as we’re back by nine,” plans were made.
Instead of our own conversations, laughter often came from canned studio audiences.
This isn’t about making a device look bad.
It’s about seeing how a small, repeated choice, like sitting down in front of a screen after dinner, can slowly change the emotional life of a whole family.
Changing the pattern without hurting the people
I didn’t just wake up one day and throw away the TV.
That kind of big gesture looks good in essays, but it doesn’t happen that way in real life.
Instead, I made one small rule: no TV for the first 30 minutes after dinner.
You could have done anything else for that half hour, like go for a walk, play cards, or just sit at the table with cups of tea.
I told my parents to do the same experiment when I went to see them.
“At least let’s finish talking before we turn it on,” I’d say, as if I wasn’t trying to undo four decades of muscle memory.
The remote won on some nights, and it worked on others.
But the point wasn’t to be pure. It was a chance.
I asked my parents a question I had never had the guts to ask before: “What did you do at night before you got your first TV?”
After a while, my mother said, “We talked more.” We played cards. “At times we were just bored.”
My dad chuckled softly and said, “We were young.” We figured out how to keep busy.
I made a small blueprint out of what they said
Then I wrote “Screens aren’t the only default” on a page and drew a simple box around it. Inside the box, I wrote down some ideas:
At dinner, ask one real question and stay at the table for a little while longer.
Set aside one night a week for “audio only”: music, radio, or a podcast.
Instead of watching one episode, take a short walk around the block.
Watch one show all the way through, like a movie, without your phone or scrolling.
Use breaks in episodes or commercials as mini check-ins: “How are you, really?”
Those little moves didn’t get rid of the TV.
They just moved it from the center of the stage to the side.
That one change changed the whole script.
The strange tenderness of seeing someone stay the same
I still go to see my parents, and when I do, they’re in the same places, bathed in the same light.
Now they’re older.
Sometimes my dad falls asleep halfway through the news and drops the remote.
I used to feel a sharp sadness about it, like watching time slip away.
Now I see something else: a couple who, in a world that was changing faster and faster, stuck to one simple ritual that they both understood.
It’s not the ritual I would choose for myself, but I finally understand what it gave them: a daily place of certainty in forty years of uncertainty.
My mum tells me things she never told me when I was a kid when the TV is off.
About the years when it was hard to make ends meet.
About how tired my dad was when he got home from work but didn’t want us to see.
We’ve all been there: the moment you realise that your parents’ “lazy habits” were often just ways to stay alive.
I still push them to go for walks, play cards, and drink coffee without their phones.
They come with me some nights. Some nights they smile, sit back down, and grab the remote.
I go to my room, shut the door, and pick something else to do for the night.
Not because I’m better.
Because I can finally see the pattern well enough to make my own.
You might have grown up with the TV on all the time
Your version could have been a phone, a tablet, or scrolling through your phone all night.
Screens are just the modern version of an old need: not to be alone with our thoughts.
You won’t get a moral medal for never watching anything again.
There is a quiet, private victory in asking yourself, “What if I did this evening differently?” every once in a while.
It’s okay if the answer is still Netflix and leftovers on the couch.
A walk, a book, a tough talk, or an early night are some times.
Those little, boring choices that no one sees are where a different kind of life starts.
