We weren't the Brady Bunch

A friend of mine posted on facebook that she introduced her daughters to The Brady Bunch. Lots of cute replies until mine. I said I hated The Brady Bunch. I was so jealous. In our house we watched what my father wanted, mostly Westerns.

Growing up there were so few shows I could relate to. Who were these parents on Leave It To Beaver? They never yelled. The children did not dread the sound of father opening the door. It was all sunshine and light, even during the darkest episodes. It saddened me greatly to learn that during the years of The Patty Duke Show, Patty was being mentally abused while portraying a happy, carefree life. Danny Thomas was the only father on TV that yelled, and then he would cover the yelled at one with kisses. No one was hit. No one was scared. The houses were always clean, the children perfectly groomed and in style. All In The Family was relatable. Archie would come home in a snit and the family danced to his commands. Roseanne struggled with money and to be the best parents with the resources they had, both financial and emotional. They laughed, but they also were real to me.

I remember watching The Flying Nun at a friend's house. Totally ridiculous, and I was able to suspend disbelief for the half hour it was on. And the only thing that friend and I were able to relate to on Gidget was the way she brushed her teeth with a huge mouthful of suds. It was so unlike what we experienced we were able to focus on that aspect of her life because we sure couldn't understand the rest of her charmed existence.

I lost my mother about the same time as I was learning to read in first grade. Dick, Jane, Sally, Spot, Mother and Father were some ideal that I could not have. In fact, I have a visceral negative experience every time I come across one of those cloth-spined readers from grade school at an antique or old book store. I remember being thrilled when my daughter started school and her reader featured Buffy and Mack, a rabbit and other creature. They were not WASPS living the dream, just some animals. If I, a white child had a hard time with Dick and Jane, imagine learning to read from those books if you were black. I guess you just had to suspend disbelief.  I had a baby sister and a big brother. I was Jane in a world gone crazy.

When we lived in a basement in Idaho while S went to graduate school, I used to watch reruns of The Beverly Hillbillies every night at 6:30. They made me laugh. They weren't real to me, everyone on the show was a caricature. We got rid of our TV about a year after that and did not get one again until years later. I liked Ugly Betty and Northern Exposure, total fairy tales. I could watch Law and Order set in gritty police stations. I can't watch the CSI shows because I do not believe those high tech labs exist on the budgets of most departments.

I was about to start ranting about the mascara advertisements that show models with false eyelashes when it occurred to me that I have strayed from the opening theme of this essay which was how, as a child, The Brady Bunch and other shows of that ilk made me jealous of unreal lives that I couldn't have. But really, there is no pleasing me. I hate The Office because I can't stand that portrayal of life either. I guess I will stick to Antiques Roadshow and reruns of The Closer. I just love Brenda Lee Johnson, thank you.