Lettuce Prey... Or, What Danger Lurks Beyond Yon Frigidaire.

Last Wednesday started much like any other day: me still comatose in bed at 7am, with my son propped up against me watching Netflix kiddie shows on the iPad. It is often thus, given that Pre-Schooler N wakes promptly at 6:30 each morn, full of vim and vigour at the glorious day about to unfold.

It's a little different for me. In my ideal world, 6:30 is a time that should only occur once a day, preferably whilst sipping lemonade and munching toasted almonds during the pre-dinner hour. The fact that another 6:30 occurs in the godforsaken early hours, every twenty-four of them (talk about overkill) is of no concern to me. I was happily ignorant of this sinister doppelganger until the wee one came into our previously sleep-sated lives. But I gamely try to make do, offering a bleary salutation and kiss before slipping into blessed half-consciousness for the half hour preceding my child's breakfast.

So it's quite believable that I may misunderstand or misconstrue things overheard during this period of light dozing. Last Wednesday, for instance, when the cheery, singing vegetables on Pre-Schooler N's favourite new show suddenly seemed to slip into sermon.

"God is bigger than the boogie man."  What the honest-to-god fuck??? Seriously? I must be hallucinating I thought, disbelief rousing me to full wakefulness. But no, there on the iPad screen, was a perfectly adorable spear of asparagus singing praises to the Big Potato in the sky.

Good christ.

You know, the irony here is that I carefully monitor each and every video or program exposed to my child. I check out sites to ensure that there's no frightening or age-inappropriate material, and I do my homework when it comes to any and all media he is exposed to. But somehow, being on the lookout for proselytizing legumes never once entered my sphere of awareness.

It's not that I begrudge Christians their entertainment. If they want to spiritually wank off to whatever low-budget Jesus flick that Kirk Cameron has attached his all-but-decimated career to, then that's their affair. But shouldn't this vegetable-fronted Bible fest come with some kind of warning? I mean... call me crazy... but there IS a special interest sort of section on Netflix, where you can view all sorts of stuff paying homage to whatever deity floats one's boat. Shouldn't this brainwashing toon be located there?

It's not that I don't realize my son will be exposed to all sorts of belief systems, philosophies and cultures throughout his life. Hell, I embrace it. But I can't help but feel the kind folks at Netflix have pulled a bit of a fast one, sneaking one sort of fantasy into another without identifying it as such.

Granted, any harm is extremely limited. I have to give myself a reality check here, remembering that I gleefully indoctrinate my son with belief in Santa, the Easter Bunny and Wonder Woman (not necessarily in that order; Wonder Woman comes first, naturally). We're not dragging him to church every Sunday, or encouraging a system of religious control and oppression into his fast-developing mind. No, this is just another fictional character on a show where tomatoes and cucumbers drive cars and happen to pray to some faceless benefactor in the sky.

It does make me think, though. A lot of these bible thumpers take serious umbrage with fantasies like Harry Potter or Narnia, as they promote unnatural 'magic' that is anathema to any god-fearing individual who has had their imagination surgically stunted. No, they must only be exposed to that which their lord has created... that which is wholesome and natural and easily understandable.

Yes, that's Hugh Laurie of 'House' fame. I'm fairly sure that's a wig. Fairly.

Or maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe there's nothing magical about a carrot experiencing an identity crisis, or a Frankenstein monster made out of celery (I shit you not). But since most evangelicals seem to believe that animals and other non-humans don't possess souls, does that mean these poor little veggies are praying in vain to an indifferent god? Are they doomed - consumption and spoilage aside -despite their obvious faith that there is an afterlife beyond the crisper? And where do animals fit into all this? Are Bessy and Mrs. Cluck aware of the divine plan regarding their impending doom?

I can't actually pretend to care. But this episode does serve to illustrate that there are hidden -- and not-so-hidden -- messages everywhere my child ventures forth. There are religious nuts (and, apparently, rutabagas) waiting to prey on his innocence and trust, on the openness of his unblemished psyche. There be dragons. Except not dragons, because that would be, you know, witchcraft.

But somehow I'd rather him believe that his lunchtime apple will suddenly start spouting Shakespeare than a bunch of sycophantic foodstuffs offering loving submission to a god whose plan for them basically boils down to a delicate cream sauce and an impudent but tantalizing bottle of claret.