I’m a baby boomer, and reaching a point in my life where I do a lot of reflection about my younger days. Some things about growing up boomer were good and some bad. Mostly, it was sort of in-between.
But Saturday morning cartoons – ah, that was the pinnacle of a boomer childhood. No other generation, before or since, experienced them quite the way we did.
Waking up at the crack of dawn – without being prompted – and knowing the morning stretched endlessly ahead, full of cartoons and as much junk food as you could sneak past your parents while they tried to sleep.
This was the official kid day of the week, acknowledged by the whole world. Oh sure; there would be chores later, or a trip to shop for shoes or a visit to relatives. But the morning was your time, and settling in on the couch or the floor with a big bowl of cereal to watch cartoons was simply magical.
I’m talking old-school watching here, people: There was no remote; there was no pausing or fast-forwarding or going back to catch a missed word.
No; you had to pay attention and live in the moment.
The Flintstones, the Jetsons, Rocky and Bullwinkle. Bugs Bunny, Popeye the Sailor Man, George of the Jungle. You knew the theme songs and sang along enthusiastically (if not always skillfully) to your favorites.
Even the stuff in between the cartoons was cartoonish. A series of animated tigers, sharks and toucans paraded brilliantly colored toys, clothing and food in front of our starry little eyes during every commercial break.
I can understand why moms weren’t always a fan of the shows we watched. You learned sarcasm from Woody Woodpecker, avarice from Yogi Bear and duplicity from the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote.
But you also learned acceptance from the Banana Splits, compassion from Magilla Gorilla, a love of science from Jonny Quest and a healthy dose of jazz music from Top Cat.
Some of the other faves from my childhood included Speed Racer, Beany and Cecil, Atom Ant, and then the more obscure ’toons like Tooter the Turtle, Tennessee Tuxedo or Peter Potamus and his Flying Balloon.
Then, in 1967, suddenly it was all about superheroes: Superman, Spiderman, Aquaman, Fantastic Four, Green Lantern, The Flash, Justice League of America all were released that year.
Like millions of other dedicated toon-watchers of the Baby Boom generation, I grew up (well, mostly) and had kids of my own.
My first two children were born in 1977 and 1978, and I enjoyed introducing them to the Saturday morning lineup that by now featured Duck Tales, Scooby Doo, Inspector Gadget, Archie, the Smurfs, the Transformers and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
We watched a lot of Schoolhouse Rock in between other shows – I’ll never forget my 4-year-old dressing her dolly while softly crooning, “Conjunction junction, what’s your function?”
Both daughters loved the cloyingly sweet Care Bears and My Little Pony shows, but also avidly devoured every episode of She-Ra Princess of Power and He-Man Master of the Universe. Go figure.
Then there were shows like the Last Dinosaur, Muppet Babies, Roger Ramjet, Jem and the Holograms and the more obscure Danger Mouse or Thundercats.
By the time my middle three children came along in 1987, 1989 and 1991, cartoons somehow had become less innocent and more world-weary, like Animaniacs, Rugrats or Spongebob Squarepants. Disney offered TaleSpin and Chip and Dale’s Rescue Rangers, and there were the Powerpuff Girls and the Wild Thornberrys.
Some classics got reboots in that decade as well: Batman Beyond, Scooby Doo, Looney Tunes, Tom & Jerry, Flintstones, Jetsons, the Real Adventures of Jonny Quest, Roadrunner all were retooled for a younger audience.
My baby, born in 1996, watched shows like Dragon Tales, Teen Titans, Kim Possible and the Fairly Oddparents on free TV, but her viewing experiences mostly came through cable TV and VHS (later DVD) rentals and purchases.
Increasingly sophisticated computer techniques have transformed the look of animated shows – we don’t even call them cartoons anymore – into something that would have been mind-boggling to my 8-year-old self.
I still marvel at Sully’s fur in “Monsters, Inc.” and the water horse in “Frozen 2.”
Hundreds of shows are available on demand for my grandchildren, who think nothing of popping in a DVD at 7:30 a.m., watching half, then catching back up after lunch. The concept of having to schedule a viewing is completely foreign to them.
The little ones watch Bubble Guppies, Puppy Dog Pals, Paw Patrol and the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, while the older ones enjoy Kratt’s Creatures, Pokemon and Lego Ninjago.
Saturday’s just another day of the week now for kids, and that makes me kind of sad.
I know, I know; time marches on, yadda yadda yadda. Technology has made many things better. There are far more choices, far better quality, far more socially acceptable themes.
But, deep in the heart of me, I mourn the loss of innocence that Saturday morning cartoons once represented.
What I wouldn’t give to be a kid again, settling in on the floor with my head propped on our big German shepherd, Joe, with a snack in hand and a morning of unfettered cartoon consumption ahead.
Want to join me? Let’s jump in the Wayback Machine and go for a spin.
