My four-year-old son recently made a sudden and unexpected swerve into the world of Minions, the movie that’s an offshoot of (and prequel to) the Despicable Me franchise.
We’re not complete media authoritarians at home, but our kids’ TV and movie universe largely consists of (in order of kid preference): Thomas & Friends, Pixar movies (mostly Toy Story — Cars specifically excluded forever), Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood, and whatever decent things Netflix has rolling through its original series stock (“Creature report! Creature report! (Creature report.)”).
So this Minions thing took us for a loop. I’m assuming some kid at school exposed our son to the idea of Minions, not unlike a cold virus, lice, or the concept of sarcasm. The only bigger recent video surprise was when a babysitter recently exposed our kids to Mickey Mouse, a falsettoed spaghetti-legged vermin our house had been fortunately to be free of until that point.
I’ve now accepted the breach of my family’s cultural firewall by Minions.
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