Phew! We did it. Last weekend Greg and I finished our monumental task of watching every single Brady Bunch episode ever! (Actually, there were only five seasons, so it wasn't that monumental, and we took lots of breaks to watch other things in our Netflix queue.)
We set out on this endeavor almost a year ago, when, last summer, I learned that Greg did not watch The Brady Bunch growing up. He didn't even know the kids' names, which to me was profoundly disturbing. Were our childhoods so dissimilar? I really thought we had a few basic things in common when we got married. I guess I just took it for granted that he would know that when Jan messed up the engraving on Mike and Carol's anniversary present that the kids would try to earn the money by entering a talent contest as a singing group called The Silver Platters and perform "Keep On" dressed in outrageously groovy costumes while doing repeated knee-bends. Doesn't everybody know that?
Now, it's not that I was a Brady Bunch fan while growing up. Quite the contrary. If anything, I was annoyed by the show. It seemed like it was always on. Just when I was in the mood for I Love Lucy, Tom and Jerry, or The Facts of Life, I would flip on the television and inevitably find the Brady family. So I endured thirty minutes of Bobby and Cindy on the see-saw or Marcia trying out for pom-pom girl while anxiously awaiting the start of the shows I actually liked.
But after watching all 117 episodes with Greg patiently by my side (after all, this was all for his benefit!), I have to conclude that by far the most important thing I have learned from The Brady Bunch is this: My husband must love me a lot.
We set out on this endeavor almost a year ago, when, last summer, I learned that Greg did not watch The Brady Bunch growing up. He didn't even know the kids' names, which to me was profoundly disturbing. Were our childhoods so dissimilar? I really thought we had a few basic things in common when we got married. I guess I just took it for granted that he would know that when Jan messed up the engraving on Mike and Carol's anniversary present that the kids would try to earn the money by entering a talent contest as a singing group called The Silver Platters and perform "Keep On" dressed in outrageously groovy costumes while doing repeated knee-bends. Doesn't everybody know that?
Now, it's not that I was a Brady Bunch fan while growing up. Quite the contrary. If anything, I was annoyed by the show. It seemed like it was always on. Just when I was in the mood for I Love Lucy, Tom and Jerry, or The Facts of Life, I would flip on the television and inevitably find the Brady family. So I endured thirty minutes of Bobby and Cindy on the see-saw or Marcia trying out for pom-pom girl while anxiously awaiting the start of the shows I actually liked.
Although I didn't especially enjoy The Brady Bunch, it nonetheless informed my worldview in several important, albeit indirect, ways. First of all, The Brady Bunch cultivated suspicion of my parents. For how frequently reruns of the show were broadcast, I figured it must have been unbelievably popular in its day. But my mom would not admit to having watched The Brady Bunch when she was a child. Never mind the fact that she was a busy, idealistic college student when the show originally aired. And that it never had more than mediocre ratings anyway. No one much watched The Brady Bunch when it was first on. It's actually my generation, watching it in reruns before Silver Spoons, that has made it any sort of cultural phenomenon. But, hey, I was seven. I didn't know any of that. What I did know is that I was absolutely convinced my parents had watched the Bradys during their childhoods and for some reason they wouldn't own up to it. I surmised that they were too ashamed to admit it. There was a lot to be embarrassed about--Carol's hair, the ginormous station wagon, an astroturfed backyard, orange formica counter tops, Alice's lame jokes, the "Time to Change" song, Cousin Oliver. No wonder they wouldn't admit they'd watched it! This is how I came to suspect that parents are not necessarily trustworthy.
As we all know, the most fascinating aspect of The Brady Bunch is the clothes. (It's like watching a car wreck--it's frightening and horrible and you want to look away but you have to keep staring.) Not only did my mom refuse to admit that she had watched The Brady Bunch when she was growing up, but she also wouldn't admit that people used to really dress that way. She would agree that there were a few bell bottoms and butterfly collars here and there in conservative Centerville, Utah, but she insisted that it wasn't as extreme as the Brady family. No matter how hard I pressed, she refused to concede that she had ever worn a dress so short her underwear showed. I didn't believe her. People really did dress like the Bradys, and this time I had proof: the picture of my dad in his plaid polyester bell bottoms. This further deepened my suspicion of my parents.
There is one more important lesson I must mention. I learned from The Brady Bunch that the bottom of the Grand Canyon is not a place I would want to visit--it looks like some dry, dusty gravel pit outside L.A. Years later, when I had outgrown afternoon T.V. in favor of talking on the phone to Deanna, my brother Andy and my dad hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Upon returning, my dad reported that the bottom of the Grand Canyon was remarkably lush and green. I didn't believe him. (Can you really trust someone who used to wear plaid polyester bell bottoms?) But then Andy confirmed that it was true: it was like an oasis, and there was even a swimming hole in Bright Angel Creek and a store where you could mail a postcard. The next year I checked it out myself, and it was true: The Brady trip to the bottom of the Grand Canyon had not actually been filmed there, or even a place that looked anything like it! I was shocked!! How could I have been so misled?! This is how I came to suspect that T.V. is not necessarily trustworthy. (While I have become less and less suspicious of my parents over time--yes, Mom, now I believe you--I have become more and more suspicious of T.V. Note "reality T.V.")
This time around with the Bradys I learned a few new things--like the fact that Mike gets his hair permed sometime after getting off the plane in Hawaii but before they arrive at their hotel, that the word "sex" is only mentioned once in the show's entire run (in the very last episode), and that in addition to the Grand Canyon and Hawaii, the Bradys also visit Ohio. In addition, I now know that the first and last seasons are really, really excruciatingly painful, but seasons 2-4 are campy and fun. I also wonder, while the Bradys certainly invite a good deal of mockery, if there is really anything wrong with a family who likes to spend time together, where the kids respectfully listen to their parents and care about one another, and whose major familial challenge is sharing the bathroom?
But after watching all 117 episodes with Greg patiently by my side (after all, this was all for his benefit!), I have to conclude that by far the most important thing I have learned from The Brady Bunch is this: My husband must love me a lot.
