I joined my daughter at the YMCA last night. My version of working out wouldn’t impress anyone, but I enjoy the bikes and the treadmill. This Y has a little library in the lobby with some interesting titles, so you can scoop up a book, prop it on the treadmill, and enjoy yourself.

The YMCA membership includes child care, so adults whirl away and the children can play. But (you knew there’d be a “but”) at the Y in our new area, mounted high above the kids’ room full of toys, books, and games, hangs . . . tah dah, a TV screen.

You knew that was coming. 

On the screen flashes mindless, crude cartoons set at a mumbling volume that no one could hear, even if the room were quiet. That fact, actually, is a blessing. 

These days, screens dominate virtually any place a child goes. They dominate our adult world too. I stopped counting the screens in the fitness room when I got to 25. It’s not my business if the adults want to be glued to screens. But the children?

Each of you can answer this question: What happens in a room where a TV screen hangs over kids like some kind of central altar? The kids pay it total “reverence.” And as the majority stand there, transfixed, staring as though it were a fireworks display, they engage in no play. No activity. There is no joy.

Now, what to do? Especially when someone is new to an establishment, as we are? Especially if the someone (me) cannot stand this kind of thing?

Calm down, Carol. It’s not going to kill a kid to spend 60 minutes staring at a TV screen. 

But over time, it is going to kill them. A childhood spent where opportunity after opportunity to engage in creative play is robbed by the nearly irresistible lure of a video screen will kill a child’s creativity, cognitive and motor development, and social skills. More and more researchers and educational specialists are shouting out this message. But are we listening?

Still, how much fuss does one make each time? The first two times at this YMCA, I suggested to the room attendants that the kids might be involved more with activities if the screen were off. The ladies stared at me as if I had emerged from a can of tomato soup. That was the wrong place to pick the battle. 

Last night, quietly, I ratcheted it up. I mean, they could always revoke my Y membership, right?

As politely as possible, I said to the nice lady at the desk: “Hi. I’m new here. My name is Carol Reynolds and I am basically the Wicked Witch of the West. Sorry to bother you, but I really want to ask you about the screen policy for the child-care room. What is the policy?”

She was great, really. First of all, she “got” it and laughed. Then she assured me that the screen usually wasn’t on. (I had never seen it off and certainly it wasn’t off then.) 

Then she emphasized that there were lots of other things for the kids to do. (Precisely, and maybe your grandchild is going to be the one who doesn’t stand there staring at every screen presented to him, but it will not be mine.)

I inquired what was being shown. She wasn’t sure, but she listed channels that were not to be shown (tasteless sources of tasteless cartoons, etc.). “Oops,” I told her, “How strange, because that’s precisely what was on, just now, when I was in there.” “Oh,” she said.

I reemphasized that I did not expect her to walk in there and turn anything off. But as a new member, it would be good to know what the policy was for this YMCA, as it would impact whether or not we brought the grandkids.

She mused a moment, “You know, I really don’t know the policy. I need to find out, because I agree with you.” (Of course, she might have just wanted to get rid of me, which I fully understand.) 

Thanking her, I went away. Ten minutes later, I peeked through the window of the child area, just in case. Hope springs eternal, right?

Miracle of miracles. The TV screen was off. Eight or nine kids were pushing little cars on the rug or sitting around the low table, cutting and pasting, coloring, and making a hilarious mockery of a Monopoly game. (Monopoly? Seriously?)

The adult caregivers looked happier, too, because they were interacting with the kids. Of course, I could be wrong about that, since working with kids’ creative spirits arguably is harder than sitting watching kids stare at a TV screen. But, then again, aren’t most of us happier if our brains are engaged?

Okay, a tiny victory. And I will get labeled as the Wicked Witch of the West. But it’s okay. I like that character, at least up to a point. And even if I get melted, I will come back another day as the Wicked Witch of the Southwest.