Parents Beware

Before adopting our first child last year, I was warned by those more experienced with parenthood what I should expect – horrific diapers, midnight feedings, likely incarceration for neglect…but possibly the most far-reaching change has nothing to do with bodily functions (although my eyes have seen a couple of diapers that should have been submitted to the FBI’s X-Files division).

This insidious effect is akin to an involuntary loss of mind control, losing autonomy of thought and mental independence.

The syndrome, of which the scientific community cannot yet agree on a universal name, has a singular source and at this time we are powerless to stop it.

This infectious danger is known by many as simply DTES - Dora The Explorer Syndrome.

Its effects are both invasive and powerful. After as little as one viewing, the songs featured in the children’s program Dora The Explorer, one by one, will burrow their way into adult consciousness where they will grow, thrive, and multiply, essentially jumping to the forefront of active thought while overwhelming most other non-critical thought.

I was strong but naive– my resistance had been unchallenged for 40 years before initial exposure. It took several episodes before I noticed something was not quite right.

For me, it started with the minor songs. My daughter, Izzy, enjoys music greatly and insisted we rewind the TiVo and replay a few choice music segments by using one of her first words (“more, more”). Initially, it was the “Backpack Song” (a surprisingly catchy 15 second ditty with a toe-tapping bass line). My wife and I would laugh about how much Izzy loved hearing the tune, amused by the workings of a simple 15 month old mind.

The next morning, I awoke humming “backpack…backpack” under my breath and didn’t think much about it. DTES always starts innocently. But once the seed has been planted, it spreads like Paris Hilton in front of a video camera.

After initial infection, the next phase of DTES is Rationalization. I had talked myself into believing that the “Backpack Song” really was a well crafted tune and there was nothing wrong with enjoying it – anyway, it was far superior to its counterpart, the inane “Map Song”, which repeats the line “I’m The Map” about a dozen times as the bulk of the tune. Backpack is way cooler than that know-it-all Map.

A few days later, I couldn’t help but notice how much heart and soul the Map puts into his song and my mind’s adult defenses faltered just long enough to let the Map in. Now, I was walking around humming the praises of the one “who can get you there, I bet.”

After two minor songs lodge in your mind, there is no chance to resist the keystone production numbers. The festive show-ending dance song “We Did It” stormed past my defenses like a steam train through a house of cards. And, I have now fallen victim to the show’s intro song and succumbed to the mid-episode “Vamanos” anthem.

Experimental treatment is available. I’ve tried intense adult-music therapy by playing my iPod during the day, hoping something else will eclipse the Dora music in my head. I have chosen high doses of the latest vaccine, Van Morrison’s fantastic new disc, and while enjoying it immensely, in quiet moments, it’s not Van The Man but Dora The Explorer that I hear.

At this point the best I can do is attempt to limit the spread of DTES and hope it doesn’t leave my quarantined home. I have vowed to never let a Dora song make it to my car or iPod (although I’ll bet I could find something on the web to download…).

I don’t know what will come next. As Izzy leaves the Dora phase, will the music stay with me? I can only hope that science advances far and fast enough to provide an answer.

If any of you know of a cure, please post it in the comments.

Thanks for helping!

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