Few months ago, I had invited my friend’s family over for dinner. Everybody – my friend, her husband, their teenage daughter (aged 16) and pre-teen son (aged 10) arrived promptly around 7pm. All of us were seated comfortably on the leather couch across the television in our den, engrossed in our own conversation, when their son expressed his desire to watch some cartoon on Netflix. Possessing the remote, he started surfing the channel feed on Netflix homepage to select his favorite cartoon, when he accidently bumped upon Russel Peters’ show. The teenage daughter immediately jumped upon him and snatched the remote and played Russel Peters.
Usually Russel Peters’ shows are adult comedies involving racial, sexual and political humor. That day, Russel was elucidating sexual comedy with obscene verbal and hand gestures, which was definitely inappropriate for the pre-teen son to watch. The teenager was hysterically roaring with laughter to Russel’s obscenity, while the inquisitive pre-teen son started questioning his parents over the parts of ‘comedy’ that he was oblivious to. I could easily sense the shame on my friend’s face. The father strictly ordered his daughter to switch to a family show, but she turned deaf ear, and continued to amuse herself with Russel Peters’ jokes.
Hurriedly, excusing myself on the pretext of fixing the dinner, I left the den, rolling my eyes. I couldn’t take that bull crap anymore.
I could hear myself mentally screaming “Damn you, teenager! Press the ‘power’ button on that freaking remote!”.