To ABC Afterschool Specials

Some producer in the 70’s thought that if kids are going to sit around all afternoon watching television after school, then why not make it useful, dammit! Educational! TV is a powerful tool and we are wasting it on shows like Glligan’s Island and The Brady Bunch. We can make real. We can make it matter. We can make a difference.

Surely there were the naysayers: no one will watch it. Parents won’t let their kids watch a show about a 13 year old boy who gets stoned in the school bathroom. No one wants to see a show about a kid getting bullied. We want heroes and cowboys and presidents.

The shows were nothing short of brave and as kids we loved them. We organized our lives around them, the special events that they were. This was real TV and it was going to tell us about real life, not some island misfits or weirdly harmonic step family. It felt like someone had whispered to us, Look, we will only tell you about this on a need-to-know basis. And you need to know.

A girl wants to join a boys’ baseball team. A country bumpkin moves to the big city and has to make new friends but everything is so different. A “normal” kid has a brother, cousin, best friend, teacher, neighbor, uncle, grandparent who is “different” and, although reluctant at first, defends that person from the haters only to find the kind of real friendship few experience.

Then there were the sex shows: where babies come from with live action birth scenes. Boyfriend pressures girlfriend and then, whoa, the girlfriend pressures the boyfriend. Venereal diseases, teen pregnancy. The dreams deferred, the dreams denied. So much penicillin and still the real scars never heal, do they? Is it worth it?

Don’t drink. Don’t smoke reefer. Don’t snort coke. Ignore your parents when you catch them doing this: you slightly open the bedroom door to ask your mom a question and see her bent over a glass on her dresser with a rolled up white piece of paper in her nose. Do not follow her example. Parents can be wrong. Not often, but definitely if they’re doing drugs.

Parents get divorced. It’s not your fault. They will date. It’s not your fault. They will get remarried and seem to forget you, but they haven’t. You just think they have because you shut them out and that is your fault. Growing up is hard, but when your mom puts her hand on your head or runs her thumb across your cheek, you know you can do it.

Doppelgangers are fun. If you can find one, trade places. You will appreciate your own life so much more because it turns out that rich kids have problems, too. Time travel is also fun. So is dancing if you can just be yourself.

The shows were a 4 PM national “head’s up” for all the shit we were about to face. Here’s the script and here’s the plan for how to cope. Got it? Good. Now, do that math homework. Get to bed on time. Feel good about yourself. Despite every voice in your head. Despite those dreams you keep having. Everyone is just like you. No one is just like you. This is either a great comfort or utterly horrifying.