In Miss Baker’s blue suburban home, the television screen blared to life with the commencement of the 9am Cartoons for Kids program. In every other house in the suburbs of Greensfield all screens did the same. Little children sat frozen on their well-cushioned couches with eyes still bleary from sleep yet glued to their screens all the same. While the later hours of the day were reserved for eruptions of chaos and cacophony from all households alike, 9am was a quiet comfort as families piled into their living rooms to behold the television screen. Likewise, Miss Baker perched herself on her sofa, hot chocolate in hand on a chilly January morning, eyes on the screen and mind far away from suburban Greensfield; somewhere in a distant cartoon land. This was second nature to her. At 40 years old, Miss Baker would get up at precisely 8:30 on the dot, woken up by her heart-shaped alarm clock, and ready herself for a morning of watching Cartoons for Kids. And today, like every other day, she sat alone on her couch, with no children in her sight, to watch Cartoons for Kids. Hair still frizzy in the morning sunlight, Miss Baker watched as reruns of shows from 30 or so years ago played in front of her eyes. Nodding along to the theme song music, she sang her heart out into the new day. A small, 10 year old Miss Baker had done the very same decades ago.

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The little blonde girl, whose hair was golden and tied in scarlet ribbons, and who was so familiar to Miss Baker, said, “Hi! Welcome. You’re watching Cartoons for Kids!” She cried out as her favourite character entered the screen, and wept when it was all over. The next day, she would do the same.