Video Village

When I thought that they could handle it, I sat my parents down and broke the bad news.  I told them I was adopted.  You see, real life couldn’t hold a candle to the fabulous, flickering world enclosed in our Sentinal television set in the basement.  Life on television was always perfect,  and it inspired me to re-design my whole family tree.

Take parents,  for example.  My adoption file reveals that my birth mother was Katherine Lawrence from “Family.”  Dad, of course, was none other than Jim Anderson from “Father Knows Best.”  I realize that these two shows were decades apart, but through the miracle of modern science, I was the world’s first tube baby.  Picture, not test.

Walter Cronkite and Aunt Bea were my paternal grandparents.  “I Remember Mama”  supplied all of my mother’s side of the family.

I was not a video only child.  Mike, Robbie, and Chip Douglas were my three big brothers.  No older sisters for me, though.  Edwina from “National Velvet” and Nancy from “Family” clearly taught me all the pitfalls of having beautiful, blonde, mean mantraps in the house.

Our neighbors were the Drysdales, the Chatsworth Osborne Juniors, and the Howell’s- when they weren’t vacationing on Gilligan’s Island.   Befitting this grand lifestyle, Hazel was our maid, Hop Sing was our cook, and only Mr. French would do as our gentleman’s gentleman.

I had lots of video friends.  I loved hanging around with Dobie Gillis and Maynard, but Mom didn’t approve of them much.  She was much happier whenever I went to the Malt Shop with David and Ricky Nelson.  We all avoided that creepy Eddie Haskell, though.

My tv childhood was idyllic.  Where else could you own Rin Tin Tin one week and Lassie and White Shadow another?  And because of all the hours I had put in riding Fury, Flicka, Diablo, and Loco, Marty would always let me borrow Skyrocket.  I got to fly the Songbird, go on safari with Marlin Perkins, cruise around in Amos Burke’s Rolls Royce and park cars with Kookie on the Sunset Strip.

I was athletic, too.  Every Saturday night, I went bowling on “Make That Spare.”   (I learned all about the Brooklyn side.)  I wrestled on a tag team with Sweet Daddy Siki and The Crusher.  And could I ever roller skate.  Joanie Weston had taught me herself.

Holidays were special.  When we didn’t have to visit the Steiner Street branch of the family, we could spend Christmas Eve with Donna and Alex Stone.  And who could forget trick or treating with Gomez and Morticia?

As I grew older,  I experienced the pangs of video puppy love.  When I was twelve, I fell hard for that handsome, blond, devoted, sensitive intern from Blair General Hospital, Dr. James Kildare.  But even though I was as pretty as Thalia Meninger and as rich as Ellie May Clampett, he threw me over for that gorgeous epileptic surfer he had met in the “Tiger Tiger Burning Bright” episode.   I was glad when she drowned.  Video jealousy isn’t pretty.

From that moment on, I vowed to love ’em and leave ’em.  I practiced my new philosophy on Sonny Crockett-incredibly sexy and a great car- until I met David Addison.   Was I fascinated?  Do bears bear?  Do bees be?

These days, I’m older but not wiser.  I am into the bad boys- Mike Logan , Jack Donaghy, and Don Draper.  I know there’s heartbreak ahead,  but there’s always “Divorce Court.”

Video genetics can be passed down, by the way.  Lately,  my son Nick has been spending an awful lot of time in a meth lab “Breaking Bad.”   It’s time to get him adopted- and quick.  I don’t want to end up broke and toothless appearing before “Judge Judy.”